"P-Princess…!"
Gregor's voice was a rough scrape of disbelief. Thalia's hand flew to her mouth.
Princess.
How long had it been since they'd seen her?
Not just since the poisoning, or the flight through snow. Since before the end of everything. Since she was the Saintess in the Vasiliev manor, a quiet figure they were sworn to protect, then tragically failed.
Since the world believed her disgraced, replaced, and then… gone.
And here she stood. Solid. Alive. In the heart of Dawnoro's stronghold, arm-in-arm with the lord they thought they'd lost..
Piotr, in all honesty, was operating at a severe disadvantage. Gregor and Thalia had a history with the Princess. They had a shared past of service and silent guilt. They had a face to mourn, a presence to remember.
Piotr? He'd never met her before. In the course of these few days, Piotr was officially the most shocked person present. Which was frustrating, because he was also the only one who knew the full unbelievable context.
