Diplomacy. Eloquence. Calculations.
In general, these were things they should've been good at—excelled at, even.
They had faced war councils, negotiated with hostile races, and spoken words that shifted entire star systems. But in the face of their own flesh and blood?
They were reduced to gawking attendants who couldn't even squeak.
It took Marshal Julian—sweating bullets, jaw tight—to cut in with a booming greeting toward Duke Leander, Duchess Amelia, and their party. His words were clumsy, but they worked. Attention swerved toward him, giving the monarchs precious seconds to recover.
It was successful. Or at least as successful as anything that haphazard could be.
Still, Empress Gisella was thankful.
Because for one terrifying moment, her heart had almost stopped.
And how could it not, when she saw him?
