The cold autumn wind swept over everyone present, carrying withered yellow leaves and stealing what little warmth remained, chilling the hands that gripped their weapons.
War seemed ready to erupt at any moment.
With his last shred of reason, Ulric stopped himself from turning to look at his subordinates' expressions.
He could not do that. It would expose his cowardice, his sensitivity, and his distrust of his vassals.
He was indeed afraid-afraid that someone would step forward at this delicate moment and accept the young man's terms. Once the first person did, the situation would spiral beyond control.
All Ulric could do now was hold his sword up and fix his icy gaze on the outrageously arrogant new king, waiting for an opening.
"My sovereign has already told you that negotiations are over. Leave immediately, you self-crowned pretender, or we cannot guarantee your safety."
As Ulric's staunch supporter, Duke Arama immediately drew his weapon and loudly rebuked the wildly arrogant young man before him. Other lords also drew their weapons and voiced their condemnation.
Yet fewer than half of them did so.
Half of the remaining lords watched Duke Aelfwine, the lord of Sarleon, as though waiting for his decision.
The other half shifted their gazes between Allen and Ulric, uncertainty flickering in their eyes.
Allen took all of this in, and further calculations formed in his mind.
Of course he would not leave. Even aside from his own power, the army of several thousand behind him gave him ample confidence.
Ulric could do nothing to him now, unless he was willing to cast aside his royal dignity and the pride he had upheld all his life.
Besides, Allen could clearly sense that his words had worked. Sometimes, silence itself was a declaration of allegiance.
"Very well. If you refuse