I smoothed the fabric of my dress, adjusting my mask carefully as our carriage approached the royal courthouse. My heart pounded against my ribs, but not from fear—from anticipation. Today, my father's legacy would finally face judgment.
"Nervous?" Alaric asked, his voice low and intimate as he reached for my hand.
I glanced at him, his handsome face showing that familiar mix of concern and protectiveness that still made my heart flutter after all this time.
"Not nervous," I replied. "Determined."
Across from us, my grandmother Wilma sat regally, her silver-streaked hair arranged perfectly beneath her hat. Her eyes, so like my own, flashed with fierce resolve.
"As you should be," she said firmly. "Your father deserves to have his title stripped posthumously for what he did to you. What they all did to you." Her gaze softened as she looked at me. "I only wish I had returned sooner."
"You're here now," I said simply. "That's what matters."
