The meeting chamber was a grand affair—ornate but not excessive, with high ceilings and intricate wooden paneling. A long table stretched between the two parties, its polished surface reflecting the light from a grand chandelier above. On one side sat Althea, poised in her seat, draped in royal blues and gold, while across from her were the foreign delegates from the Tensene Empire, dressed in their distinguished silks and embroidered coats.
She should have been in control of this meeting. Normally, she would have been. But today, her mind was somewhere else. Or rather, with someone else.
Clyde.
Her fingers curled slightly over the armrest of her chair. The words of the delegates blurred in her ears, lost beneath the pounding in her head. She should be listening—she should be negotiating, charming, handling this like the future ruler she was meant to be. But all she could think about was the severed fingers. The fear that gnawed at her insides like a rabid animal.
