The hall was deadly silent, with many of the clan representatives no longer daring to meet Damian's gaze. The corpse of Drogath still lay where it had fallen, the blood slowly spreading across the polished floor, serving as a brutal reminder of what happened to the first person who had challenged him.
Elsa remained seated on Damian's lap, but her expression had changed completely. She had expected the argument to escalate into a confrontation, perhaps even a brief struggle between Damian and the clan patriarchs, but she had never expected him to deliberately push the situation toward violence and kill one of them without hesitation.
Yet somehow, that violence had achieved what years of political maneuvering could not. The hall was peaceful now. Not because everyone had reached an agreement, but because everyone was terrified of what would happen if they did not.
