After the roar, the hall fell into an eerie silence, so quiet that the sound of a pin dropping could be heard.
The three sisters of the Nightingale family held their breath, their eyes wide open, and their pupils trembling uncontrollably.
Even when their father was alive, he would never dare to shout at His Majesty the King—no, even the slightest rise in tone would have him retreating for three days and nights to reflect. How could he ever shout like that?
The three sisters were stunned. There were many uncontrollable factors in this world, such as their father's death, or their younger brother Ryanie's sudden outburst.
As children of a lord, heirs of a noble family, how could their mental composure be so poor?
They all turned their gaze toward Ryanie, one with disappointment, one with anger, and the third with eyes that had already turned to ashes.
