Eichhorst's face had drained completely white — no flush of anger remaining… only pure, unmasked terror.
He stared at the features now revealed beneath the mask as if the earth itself had split open before his feet.
"…Draven," he breathed.
The sound barely qualified as human speech — thin, shattered thing.
Draven smiled faintly: cold… devastatingly beautiful… and terrible beyond measure.
Then — instantly — every trace of expression vanished entirely. His hand clamped harder still around Eichhorst's throat. Crushing tight.
Eichhorst gagged and choked violently — and with one sharp, brutal motion Draven hurled him clear across the garden as if the King weighed no more than straw.
He struck stone paving with heavy, broken gasp. Guards surged forward immediately, shouting in alarm:
"Your Majesty!"
