Patricia rose slowly, trying to summon the haughty disdain that had once commanded salons and ministers alike.
"This is absurd," she said, her voice brittle.
But no one moved to support her. No one rose in protest. The ambassadors who had been orbiting her minutes earlier now watched from behind their fans and glasses, polite horror stretching across their expressions like painted veils.
Her spine stiffened, chin raised. "I have the right to be informed of any charges before being humiliated in front of the entire court—"
Gregoris didn't blink. He didn't need to. The scroll in his hand was already open, the seal broken. Her name, etched in crimson ink, stared back at her like prophecy fulfilled.
Conspiracy against the Crown. Sabotage of imperial image. Forgery, political destabilization, and treason.
It was the last word that nearly took her breath. Treason. The word lingered like rot in silk.
