“Apologies, my heart,” Saera says, wiping the blood off her cheek, “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

She drags along the head of the man who’d bruised your beautiful face. The one who’d called you vile names for not being an elf. Saera can feel the rage returning as she tosses the head onto the table for the other nobles to look at.

“Let him serve as a reminder,” she snarls. “Lest any more of you lose your heads.” She doesn’t care she’s proving the rumors of her being 'mad' to be true.