"How could that be?" Erina's protest rang through the hall.
She shook her head repeatedly, disbelief etched across her face.
"Her Majesty is breathtaking. How could someone raised in the countryside possibly resemble the empress?"
She scoffed, her voice rising with indignation.
"Isn't that an insult to the empress?"
Then, almost by accident, her gaze drifted toward Lara, who stood quietly beside the recently restored portrait of Empress Lara.
The words caught in Erina's throat.
Now that someone had pointed it out, the resemblance was impossible to ignore. Standing side by side, the similarities were striking—the shape of their eyes, the graceful curve of their features, even the quiet dignity they carried. The likeness was so uncanny that, deep down, even Erina could no longer deny it.
Yet acknowledging it and accepting it were two different things.
"Amelia bears the empress's features as well," Lara said softly.
Every head turned toward Amelia.
