"You have quite the tongue," the Queen said after a pause, her voice smooth but sharp beneath the silk, "for someone who once scrubbed floors and polished boots. Has Casian been giving you lessons in diplomacy… or defiance?"
"I'm only speaking from experience, Your Majesty," Lyra replied evenly, her tone composed but clear. "And if I've learned anything, it's that dignity isn't worn—it's earned."
A hush fell over the pavilion. Even the wind seemed to pause, waiting.
Seraphina leaned forward, resting her chin on folded fingers. "And what dignity did you earn, exactly, in Stefford?"
Lyra's eyes didn't waver. "Survival. Endurance. Silence, when screaming was easier. And strength—not the kind wrapped in silk—but the kind that holds when the world doesn't care if you fall."
Beside her, Linda shifted uncomfortably, but Seraphina remained statuesque—her gaze unblinking, dissecting.
