Duke Embercrown stood. The motion was controlled — the Monarch's discipline maintaining posture despite the particular stress of having his daughter dismantle his public persona with the precision of a surgeon removing a tumor.
"These allegations are fabricated," he said. The voice was still measured. Still warm — the Embercrown warmth, the particular heat that made authority feel like care and control feel like protection. "My daughter is being manipulated by individuals within this academy who have a political interest in discrediting my house."
He looked at me. Directly. The scarlet eyes finding the violet across the hearing room with the particular intensity of a man who'd identified the person responsible for his current situation and intended to communicate that identification clearly.
