Morgana opened her mouth.
No sound came out.
She closed it.
She opened it again.
"I-I…" her voice faltered, unbecoming of a ducal heiress known for making grown knights tremble. "Th-this doesn't make sense—"
Elizabeth raised her hand.
Not aggressively. Not authoritatively.
Just… a simple gesture.
And Morgana stopped speaking immediately, as if her own body had decided to obey before her mind.
"Breathe," Elizabeth said, with the same irritating calm as always. "Think. Then speak."
Morgana breathed.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
"You're saying…" she began, choosing each word with excessive care, "...that Damon was sent to Arven by you. Not by my father. Not because of some internal political intrigue. But… to gain experience?"
Elizabeth nodded slightly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Real experience," she corrected. "Out of my shadow. Out of the direct control of Wykes Manor. Arven was… convenient."
Damon kept his gaze down.
Very low.
