[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/IvC7ksl.png[/img][/center]
[color=#B39700][color=#D7CCC8]Location:[/color] Castle Dining Hall
[color=#D7CCC8]Mention:[/color] [@Silverpaw] [@Apex Sunburn][@Tae][@CitrusArms][/color]
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[color=#D7CCC8]Hafiz had intended to keep his eyes forward. To watch the stranger, to interpret the shifting currents of the hall. 

But movement at the edge of his vision stole his attention:Kalliope, leaning in toward that man, her expression softened. 

The way she looked at him, touched him, spoke low in confidence... 

He turned his gaze back to the center of the hall with the calm of a practiced diplomat, but his mind lingered. 

And yet, even as the chain rattled and the hall descended into tension, a small part of Hafiz’s mind remained distracted by the taste of something he rarely admitted to feeling: envy.

Hafiz’s expression remained still, but a glint flickered behind his eyes as Kilian spoke. There was power in the man’s voice, certainly, a kind of raw conviction that draped over the court.

He did not flinch at talk of infection or reckoning; such language was familiar to him. But what caught in his mind was how easily this outsider commanded the moment. It was not the Queen's throne that had become the center of gravity—it was this man and his chain. 

Hafiz’s gaze had moved the moment Wulfric entered the hall, but it was his words that truly caught his interest. The moment Wulfric stepped behind Alibeth, Hafiz lifted his brows. The crown prince had just peeled away the illusion of unity between monarch and enforcer, torn down the theater mask Alibeth had so carefully applied to Kilian. It was well executed, and Hafiz, in spite of himself, could not help but admire the cruelty.

[i][color=#B39700]It seems Caesonia has an abundance of iron. Chains, tongues, and wills alike. Yet even iron breaks when stretched thin. And if the monarchy cannot agree on what defines the enemy, how is the court meant to distinguish witch from Queen?[/color][/i]

Hafiz sat motionless, yet behind his stillness burned a quiet, burning awe. Edin had just hacked off his own limb with a rusted axe and called it divine justice. Their disgrace of a Queen was cast aside, the Church appeased, the witch hunters praised.

Hafiz nearly smiled. Nearly. 

This was no longer mere court drama. This was bloodletting, a quiet civil war beginning.

Alibeth, dethroned and disgraced. Wulfric, questionable. Edin, scrambling to salvage control while unknowingly inviting others to sink their fangs deeper into Caesonia’s throat.

And the nobles? Reeling, uncertain, ripe for influence. 

However, on the other hand, Hafiz supposed that now was no longer the time to voice his concerns over the dog-stealing knight. The woman’s crime, however egregious in Hafiz’s personal estimation, would have to wait their turn. A pity, really. 

With a smooth smile, he rose from his seat, offered a shallow bow in the direction of the King, and took his leave.

[i][color=#B39700]Let the court gnash its teeth and pray to whatever gods it still believes in. I’ll offer no such prayers. [/color][/i]
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