The cold amusement drained away, replaced by concern. Her hands, which had been resting on the armrests of her throne, suddenly gripped the stone with enough force that her knuckles began to turn white.
Her jaw clenched, her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, just a fraction of a second, genuine fear flickered across her face before she forced it back down beneath layers of practiced royal composure. Around the throne room, positioned on elevated seats arranged in a rough semicircle, sat the Elven Council.
Eleven members who looked to be at least six hundred years old, their eyes carrying the burden of centuries of observation and judgment. The moment Jack's form solidified, they began to react.
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