The crowd collectively held its breath.
Heena leveled the sword at the Knight Commander's throat. The tip touched skin — barely, just the faintest kiss of steel — and a single drop of blood welled up, slow and dark, sliding down the column of his neck like a period at the end of a sentence no one wanted to finish.
"Your Majesty—" someone started from the crowd.
"Silence."
The word didn't need to be loud. It landed like a blade through wood, clean and final, and the voice that had dared speak simply ceased. No shuffling feet. No rustling fabric. Not even the sound of breathing.
