"By whom?"
Father Lorian smiled, and the aura thread around his throat darkened slightly.
A self-silencing seal. Of course.
Abi stepped down from the dais and moved toward him, the violet knot still hovering above his palm, his glamour fallen away entirely now. The entire hall could see he wasn't the Crown Prince, his silver hair, his amethyst eyes, the pressure around him that made the air behave as though it feared offense.
I heard whispers ripple through the nobles. Let them whisper. At this point, anyone still prioritizing gossip deserved to choke on it.
Abi stopped before Father Lorian and looked down at the black marks beginning to stir beneath the priest's jaw. "That seal is poorly made," he said.
Father Lorian's smile faltered. Abi looked genuinely offended. "Whoever designed it believed cruelty could substitute for craftsmanship."
I stared at him. "Is this the time to critique technique?"
"Bad technique creates unnecessary mess."
