Valcarrini's words hung in the air like perfume—cloying, expensive, and suffocating.
Valeria said nothing.
She could feel the pressure building just beneath her collarbone, like a knot she couldn't quite cut. The argument was clear in her mind, sharp and instinctive. But the words to frame it? They eluded her. She was a knight, not a diplomat. Her strength lived in action, not the slippery finesse of noble rhetoric.
And Valcarrini knew it.
She leaned back in her chair, perfectly composed, voice velvet-smooth as she continued, "Some are born to rule, Lady Olarion. Others are born to serve. That is not cruelty—it is order. A structure ordained not by law, but by blood. By history. You of all people must understand that."
Valeria's jaw flexed slightly.
But the noblewoman wasn't finished.
