Duchess Rerfe stared at Caroline in utter shock and disgust. Her gloved hands trembled, clutching the lace handkerchief so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
How could this foul-mouthed, insolent woman ever be the empire's future emperor?! It was unthinkable. The woman she had once known—the one who was cold, yet smiled gracefully at her—she was ambitious... but not venomous.
Caroline turned slightly, her gaze landing on the duchess without warmth. Her eyes were like pieces of frozen glass, empty of empathy, full of something sharper—amusement, maybe contempt. A slow, deliberate smile twisted her lips. "You look pale, Duchess. Nervous, perhaps?"
Come on, no one could blame her for being curious.
Duchess Rerfe swallowed, every muscle in her body wound tight. "You will disgrace your title," she breathed. "Do you even understand the shame you will bring to the throne with such words?"
