The church envoys sat cautiously, their backs tensed as they waited for the queen. They recalled the fear and helplessness they felt during their first visit to the kingdom, and some of the guards' backs broke out in cold sweat.
As time ebbed away, they showed no irritation or arrogance—only quiet patience, hoping she'd take her time.
Only the priestesses had a frown on their faces; one of them tapped on the chair handle with growing irritation, while the other gripped her cup tightly in anger.
"How dare she keep us waiting again? Does she think the angel of darkness gives her the right to treat us this way?" the priestess snapped. Her voice was sharp, biting. She stopped tapping and glared at the door.
Her words made the bishop frown. His hand drifted to his neck as if recalling the sensation of choking. Fear flickered in his eyes, but he quickly masked it behind a calm façade.
