Prime Minister Choi stepped forward, his robes a deep, rich blue that commanded authority. His face was perfectly composed, handsome in a chilling, distant way. But it was his smile that sent a shiver down Maya's spine—calculated, precise, and utterly devoid of warmth. It was a condescending smirk veiled beneath layers of courtly politeness.
"The royal decree claims you are of noble lineage, child," Choi said, his voice smooth as polished jade, yet sharp as a hidden blade. He let his gaze sweep over her simple clothes. "But I see only a common fisher-girl. A foreigner, washed up with no name and no memory."
He paced slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. "Tell us, Maya. What exactly are you doing in our court? And what is that barbarous trinket around your neck?"
The questions were not genuine inquiries; they were accusations designed to fluster and dismantle her. The entire court waited, eager to see the foreign interloper crumble under his pressure. Maya felt the heat rising in her cheeks, her mind racing for a diplomatic answer that wouldn't betray her fear.
She opened her mouth, but the words felt trapped behind a knot of terror.