The Dwarf King's brows furrowed in utter disbelief as he watched the girl—no, the woman—before him radiate with a calm yet sinister power. He could hardly reconcile the image of the sweet, innocent child who once clung to her father's cloak with the ruthless executioner that now stood in his hall. Her eyes, once filled with warmth and wonder, now shimmered with icy malice, void of mercy.
Still, he couldn't deny it. Deep down, he knew this day might come. Watching her father die, then being hurled through a rift into a world that tore her apart, was more than enough to twist anyone's soul. But what irked him, what truly clawed at his pride, was that she blamed him. Him, who had no hand in her father's demise.
"She should be after the real bastard who killed him," he grumbled inwardly, fingers twitching with restrained irritation.
"Rebecca—"
"Don't," she said, her voice low, cold, and cutting. "Don't speak. You'll only anger me… and trust me, you wouldn't like me when I'm angry."
