King Darius sat upon his gilded throne, his expression unreadable as he studied the group before him. Odi stood with Ben slightly in front of her, as if shielding her from unseen threats. Her battered body spoke volumes, the bruises stark against her skin, her exhaustion barely hidden behind her defiant stance. Oliver, ever the opportunist, wore an exaggerated expression of humility, though the cunning gleam in his eyes never wavered. Heath stood by the King’s side, his piercing gaze flickering between them all, but his disgust was mostly reserved for Oliver.
“I would like to speak to Odi alone,” Darius finally said, his voice calm but firm.
Oliver immediately stiffened, his single hand tightening into a fist. “Alone?” he echoed, feigning concern. “Your Majesty, forgive me, but I am her
