For a long moment, Eris did not move.
The courtyard was still caught in that sacred hush that follows worship, that pause between devotion and disbelief. Her eyes swept over the sea of bowed heads, the gleam of armor catching the first light of dawn, the soft mist curling above the breath of a hundred men who dared to kneel before her.
It was not fear she felt. Not pride either.
It was something quieter. Stranger.
Surprise.
As though she had forgotten what respect looked like when it wasn't tainted by terror.
Her lips parted faintly, but no words came.
And then, a voice, soft enough to brush against her ear without touching.
Soren leaned closer, his breath cool against the heat of her skin.
"Why do you look so astonished, Your Majesty?" he murmured, tone smooth as frost over flame. "You are the future Empress of Nevareth now."
