Su Yaoyao's ears burned from his teasing. Just as she was about to offer a flirtatious retort, she suddenly heard a soft CLICK—the jeweled clasp of the ceremonial sword at Augustine's waist had come undone.
The sword, a symbol of the Empire's power, slid slightly from its sheath. In that flash of cold light, she clearly saw a bloodstain on the blade that hadn't been wiped clean.
The air in the entire banquet hall seemed to freeze.
Reg's wine glass froze mid-air. Mingye's finger was already on the trigger. Bai Lian subtly pulled Su Yaoyao a little closer to him.
"Your Majesty." Roland suddenly dropped to one knee, his voice terrifyingly hoarse. "Please allow me to adjust your sword for you."
A shadow crossed Augustine's eyes, but it melted into the gentleness of a spring thaw when he looked down at Su Yaoyao. "Did I scare you? This is deer blood from this morning's sword practice."
