Crimson’s eyes scanned the letter, his expression growing darker with every line he read.

The ornate paper crinkled in his clawed grip as he tried to control the surge of fury boiling inside him.

The words seemed to sear themselves into his mind—Ren Canahy had the gall to accuse him of involvement in the assassination of Aropia’s king. Worse yet, he claimed to have proof, demanding reparations, as if he—a mere human—held any power to command a prince of Drakonia.

The letter was a slap in the face, an insult Crimson couldn’t ignore. His sharp, wolf-like ears flattened against his skull, a low, dangerous growl escaping from his throat as his fury mounted.

Ren’s demands were written in plain, unapologetic language—no hint of fear, no attempt to couch his words in diplomacy.

It was a challenge, a blatant provocation, and Crimson’s pride as a prince of Drakonia would not allow him to let it slide. How dare Ren, a member of what he considered a lesser race, show such defiance?

He crushed the letter in his fist, crumpling it into a tight ball as if he could squeeze the life out of the man who’d penned it. His lips peeled back from his fangs, rage twisting his face into a mask of barely controlled violence.

“This... this insolence!” he spat, his voice a guttural snarl. “He dares... that human dares to threaten me? To accuse me?”

Nevya, who had been watching her brother’s reaction with growing curiosity, took an instinctive step back, her mischievous grin fading.

She’d seen Crimson angry before, had witnessed his temper flare over slights real and imagined, but this was different. There was a rawness to his rage now, a depth of fury she had rarely seen in him. Her brows furrowed, the casual playfulness slipping away as a strange sense of unease settled over her.

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“What does it say?” she asked, her voice more cautious than usual. “What could that man have possibly written to make you this angry?”

Crimson didn’t answer. He was too focused on the surge of emotions threatening to spill over—the hatred for the human who dared to challenge him, the sting of his own wounded pride, the humiliation of being called out with such boldness.

The room seemed to shrink around him, the sound of the storm outside muffled by the roar in his ears.

“Is it... about the king’s death?” Nevya pressed, her voice faltering as she caught a glimpse of the dangerous glint in her brother’s eyes.

She knew Ren was a cunning adversary, but to get under Crimson’s skin like this, to make her brother look so rattled, was something else entirely. For the first time, a flicker of fear danced at the edges of her mind.

If Ren had the proof he claimed, ii would spell trouble on the international stage.

Crimson’s breath came fast and shallow, his chest heaving as he tried to rein in the fury consuming him.

He crumpled the letter further in his clawed hand, his rage bleeding into his voice as he hissed, “He claims he has proof of my involvement. Proof of a crime that should have died with the old king. That human dares to demand payment from me—reparations, as if I were some sniveling dog to be bought and tamed.”

Nevya forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes, trying to maintain her usual cheeriness even as the room seemed to close in around them. “He’s bluffing, right?” she asked, a trace of doubt creeping into her voice. “Ren Canahy’s just trying to get a rise out of you. He can’t possibly have real evidence... can he?”

Crimson’s silence was answer enough. He couldn’t know for certain, and that was what truly burned at his core.

“Then let’s go to war then ,” Antony spoke up out of the blue.

The silence that followed Antony’s words felt almost suffocating, thick with the weight of his suggestion.

"Stop speaking in riddles, Antony," Crimson growled, his voice low and lethal. "If you have a plan, spit it out."

Antony’s lips curled into an almost amused smile, though there was a sharpness to his gaze that betrayed his steely resolve.

He wasn’t just playing a game—this was a calculated maneuver.