Outwardly, Amanda remained a cold and unapproachable statue. Inside, however, a hurricane raged, consisting of three words repeating in an endless loop:
What the fuck?
How did it come to this? What the hell is going on? Are you kidding me?!
Her mind raced in panic, unable to grasp the scale of the catastrophe. She stole a glance at Randel—the man with a face carved from Carraran marble, who had just coldly shattered an engagement with a single sentence. A chill of fear ran down her spine.
What if he's always like this? In the book, he was killed off before the plot even began. Everything known about him comes from Roxana's words alone. If Roxana turned into a bitch instead of the character from the book... then Randel isn't the same either? What kind of monster did I save?
The panicked thoughts came in an avalanche:
I just wanted to eat! And now there's a broken engagement! Because of me? Maybe I shouldn't have agreed to come at all? Maybe I should leave right now? Run while I still can?
Her survival instinct screamed:
Run!
But logic, already accustomed to this insane reality, whispered:
There's nowhere to run. You're in the very center of the web. There's only one way—forward, with even more pomp and audacity
.
And she did it.
Amanda rose slowly. Her movement was so fluid and imbued with sudden, silent authority that even Randel fell silent, staring at her. The entire hall froze, awaiting her reaction to the scandal that had just unfolded.
"Enough," she said. Her voice, distorted by the modulator, rang out quietly but with such power that the word echoed in the ensuing silence.
Everyone stared at her, holding their breath.
"I did not wish for any of this," she continued, her gaze—hidden behind the mask—gliding over Yui's pale, tear-streaked face, over Randel's impassive one, over Roxana's predatory expression. "I came here solely at the invitation of Duke Randel Eichenwald, responding to his call for aid. I brought healing. I brought protection. But not to become the cause of discord."
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She paused, allowing her words to sink into the minds of everyone present.
"Your titles, your engagements, your earthly ambitions..." She pronounced it with a faint, almost imperceptible shade of disdain, as if speaking of something trivial, like the scurrying of ants. "They mean nothing to me. They are dust on the winds of history, which I have observed for millennia. I have no need of them. I do not crave them."
She saw her words strike true. The nobles exchanged glances; some lowered their eyes, feeling small and insignificant before such grandeur.
And then, wishing to put a bold, dramatic full stop to the scene and dispel any lingering doubts about her power, she decided to take the risk. She knew that Leo and Torgrim stood invisibly in the corner of the hall.
Leo, be ready,
she prayed silently.
She raised her hand—the very one whose "wave" had once annihilated a band of mercenaries. But this time, she directed it not at a person, but at the massive crystal goblet filled with wine that stood in the center of the table.
"Your passions are as fleeting as this wine," she proclaimed theatrically.
And the goblet... rose into the air.
Smoothly, without a single sound, without a flash of light, without an incantation in an ancient tongue. It simply lifted from the table and hovered half a meter above it, slowly rotating, its contents not even rippling.
Gasps of horror and amazement filled the hall. Even Tywin could not hide his shock. Roxana froze with her mouth agape, her analytical mind failing her completely for the first time in ages.
Randel stared at the levitating goblet, and in his eyes was not mere surprise, but something deeper—reverent awe.
"But... but that's impossible..." whispered one of the nobles. "Even levitating a feather requires hours of concentration and the most intricate spell... and she... she didn't even whisper!"
Amanda held her hand raised, marveling herself at the trick she and Leo had practiced in the forest for occasions like this. The near-invisible thread—made from a mithril alloy and mountain silk-spider web—manipulated by Leo's nimble fingers, was almost weightless and undetectable.
After a few seconds, savoring the effect, she slowly lowered her hand. The goblet descended just as smoothly and silently back to its place.
"Do not forget di chi avete a che fare," she said in the Idelian, Old Mondaran dialect—a phrase she had once read in a historical novel. *"Do not forget whom you are dealing with."*
And without another word, without looking at anyone, she turned and walked toward the exit of the hall, her golden armor casting reflections from the flickering candle flames.
Behind her, absolute, deafening silence reigned—only to be shattered a moment later by an explosive murmur of voices. But she no longer cared. She had won this round. Yet the price... the price had turned out far higher than she could have imagined. She hadn't just saved the prince. She had shattered his engagement and forever altered the balance of power in the kingdom's most influential house. And all of it—while sitting atop a powder keg of her own deception.