He bowed—just enough to remain respectful, but not enough to appear submissive.
"Forgive us, Your Highness," he began, his voice steady, carrying the weight of experience rather than fear, "but your departure… was never formally declared. There was no record, no decree left behind. Even the late emperor's inner circle did not influence the understanding of the court at large."
A pause.
His eyes lifted slightly.
"What we believed… was based on what was left for us to see."
The words were careful.
Calculated.
A challenge—wrapped politely.
The hall went still.
Because this time—
It wasn't fear speaking.
It was defiance.
Elara didn't let him finish.
A short, sharp sound left her lips—something between a scoff and a laugh, entirely devoid of amusement.
"It hurt your pride?" she cut in, her voice low, dismissive. "Your assumptions? Your… interpretations?"
She waved her hand slightly, as if brushing away something insignificant.
"I don't give a damn about any of that."
