"What are you even saying, Your Grace?"
Cherion could hear his own heartbeat. It was a frantic, irregular thumping, like a bird throwing itself against the bars of a cage. And then there was Zarius's breathing, low, steady, and terrifyingly calm.
Cherion's voice sounded like it belonged to a stranger. It came out thin and shaky, nothing like his usual carefully put-together tone. He tried to inject a bit of wit into the words, a desperate attempt to reset the vibe to something manageable, something less... lethal. But the wit wouldn't come. His brain basically stopped working the second the Duke got that close.
Zarius didn't pull back. If anything, he drifted closer, his eyes pinning Cherion against the frost-cracked stone. The Duke looked like he was cataloging every tremor in Cherion's limbs.
"Do you truly not understand?" Zarius asked. His voice wasn't just a sound, it was a vibration that traveled through the floor and settled deep in Cherion's marrow.
