The pause that followed was heavy.
Ragnar then turned to Mira.
"You claim to be a courier," he said, his tone sharpening. "Bound by oath to deliver sealed messages untouched. Yet you admit, before the crown, to breaking that seal out of curiosity."
Mira stiffened. "I thought—"
"You thought," Ragnar interrupted, his voice cutting cleanly through hers, "that violating one of the most sacred rules of your profession would earn you praise?"
Her fingers tightened around the strap of her satchel, the leather creaking softly beneath her grip.
"Produce your credentials," Ragnar said evenly. "Your guild mark. Your writ of service."
Mira hesitated, her gaze flicking briefly toward the gathered courtiers, then to the dais.
"Do it," King Zeriel ordered sharply, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.
