The words hung there, heavy with calculated venom.
Reynard didn't react at first—at least not outwardly. His smile, almost too perfect, didn't waver. But the gleam behind his eyes had shifted, sharpened, coiled like a snake winding itself beneath velvet.
Davien didn't hesitate.
"You dare insult House Crane like that? In public? At a banquet of this scale?"
Lyon stepped forward too, fists clenched at his sides—not in preparation to strike, but to emphasize the trembling restraint. "Reynard Crane showed you courtesy. And this is how you repay it? With slander? With disrespect?"
Eyes turned.
Dozens now.
Not just from nearby tables, but across the hall—aristocrats, instructors, junior nobles. Students and stewards. Whispers bloomed like weeds in summer rain.
Lucavion stayed perfectly still.
His hand lowered slowly from his face, and he blinked—once—like the weight of their outrage was a feather brushing his coat.
