The doors to my study room opened with a low groan, indicating that my target has come.
Sure enough, Duchess Rerfe strode forward. Every step she took was precise, calculated—the sound of her heels echoing across the marble like a deliberate rhythm of defiance.
"Welcome, Duchess Rerfe. I was waiting for you." My voice carried through the room, smooth and commanding, the sound practiced into something that sat halfway between warmth and threat.
I offered her my signature smile—the one meant to disarm and unsettle in equal measure—as she dropped gracefully into a bow.
When she straightened, her eyes lifted to meet mine, sharp as the edge of a gilded dagger. "May the world tremble before you, Your Majesty," she said, her tone clipped yet reverent. It was the voice of a woman well-acquainted with power—one who knew how to survive it but not how to yield to it.
