Arthur sat upon the throne of Elvania, with Erica resting lightly against him.
Blood stained the once-pristine white-stone floor. Bodies and groaning elves lay scattered across the hall, armor dented, weapons snapped, and the air thick with the metallic scent of blood and burned mana. Faint wisps of lingering mana still drifted through the shattered throne room, while broken chandeliers cast uneven shadows across the ruined floor.
But Erica's gaze did not wander.
She did not look at the corpses, the half-dead nobles, or the shattered pillars.
Her eyes remained fixed solely on Arthur.
Even though fear churned within her stomach, even though a tremor ran through her chest, her curiosity refused to let go. She focused on Arthur's profile—the calm line of his jaw, the stillness in his crimson eyes, and the relaxed tilt of his mouth.
