The moment Yerel finally shut his mouth, the atmosphere in the Grand Banquet Hall instantly transformed into that awful, suffocating awkwardness you get when someone drops a glass in a crowded restaurant and nobody knows where to look.
Standing beside Zarius, Cherion kept his posture straight and his face locked into the classic "I am a peaceful bystander with zero thoughts behind these eyes" look. But beneath that? Absolute chaos.
His pulse was performing a hyperactive drum solo against his ribs. Yerel's creepy eyes had finally drifted somewhere else, but the aftertaste of that intense glare still felt like a cold, awkward hand hovering way too close to Cherion's neck.
On paper, this was supposed to be a massive win. The Crown Prince had just publicly cleared Cherion's name, putting a sudden, aggressive end to the vicious whispers making the rounds through the capital's gossip mill. But as Cherion stared down at the floor, his stomach twisted into a tight, deeply suspicious knot.
