"I demand to see my husband."
The words rang through the hall, firm and crystalline, echoing off the vaulted stone. Yet beneath the commanding tone, there was a tremor—so subtle, so well-hidden, that only those who truly knew her might have noticed it. That courage, so fiercely assembled for this moment, seemed to waver at the very thought of facing him.
Kelvin adjusted his monocle, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "He has remained within the sacred hall since the moment of his return. He has eaten nothing. Only water touches his lips."
Sapphira's eyes trembled.
"Take me to him," she said, rising from the smaller throne.
Not a single noble moved to stop her.
Not one word of protest escaped their lips.
Who among them dared challenge her now? Not after what they had seen—what they had felt. Her command transcended station. She didn't rule by decree alone. She was power, veiled in grace.
Yet they all wondered the same thing, their minds a tempest of doubts.
