Ophelia bit down on her lip, lowering her gaze. Her hands trembled, but she said nothing.
She wouldn't dare.
Everyone could see it now—Isabella's mercy was already stretched thin. And this, they knew, was mercy.
The guards hesitated for a heartbeat, glancing toward Kian for silent approval. Kian, still stone-faced and detached, gave a single nod.
Only then did they move.
"Take them away," Isabella snapped, her voice firm, crisp, leaving no room for argument. "You've already wasted my morning. Don't try that with the rest of my day."
The guards seized the criminals at once, dragging them through the square. Cries erupted, but the villagers remained still, not one daring to object.
Isabella scoffed under her breath. She could still feel the sting of annoyance buzzing in her chest. Her gaze drifted—landing on Cyrus.
Her expression shifted.
That man.
