The silence fractured—not with sound, but with presence. The kind that crawled up the skin, sank into the spine, and said something had shifted.
Evangeline exhaled, slow and unhurried, the corners of her lips lifting—not with affection, but with something far sharper. Knowing. Amused. Dangerous.
"A consort. And a flagbearer…" she murmured again, and this time her voice carried a laced venom, silk-wrapped, slow. "How charmingly stupid."
It was stupid, considering first, he was food, and second, he was participating in a battle where everyone wanted each other's life.
The bat stirred, unease rippling across its thin form as it spoke.
"My Queen, he is of royal bloodline."
That made her smile drop. Instantly. The mist that had lazily curled around her bare feet receded like breath sucked back into lungs.
The cold deepened—not in temperature, but in weight.
"…Say that again," she said. Not loudly. But every syllable fell like a warning bell.
