The room was really, really quiet. Like the kind of quiet before something very, very bad happens. Thick, suffocating, and edged with fear.
I clung to Papa's chest, still hiccuping from my very justified meltdown earlier. My tiny fingers curled into his clothes, and I pressed my face against him. His heart was beating fast. Or maybe that was mine. I didn't know. All I knew was that everyone in the room looked like they were about to cry or throw up.
And, honestly? Same.
Papa was scary.
Like, I knew he was always kinda scary, but this was different. His crimson eyes weren't just cold. They burned. Like, if he looked at someone long enough, they'd just drop dead on the spot.
And these people? The maids, the guards, even Nanny and Mareilla? All of them were kneeling, heads down, shoulders stiff, like they knew death was already breathing down their necks.
Papa still had his sword out. Oh. Right. There was blood on it.
