The manic laughter died down, leaving behind a silence so heavy it felt like the room itself was holding its breath. Rex stopped his backward retreat.
His arms slowly lowered, but the predatory energy didn't dissipate; it condensed, focusing entirely on Helena like a laser beam of pure malice.
"But before we begin the feast," Rex said, his voice dropping to a conversational, almost conversational whisper that made the hair on Helena's neck stand up, "we must remove the trappings of your office."
"The silk, the embroidery, the royal insignia... these things are lies, Helena."
"They are armor for your soul."
He stepped forward again, but he didn't approach her with violence. He approached her with the terrifying calm of an executioner.
