Elara stood perfectly still, listening to her sisters' taunts with the same expression she might use to observe interesting bacteria under glass.
The original owner of this body had hated these gatherings with visceral intensity. The diaries made that clear—pages of anguished writing about the humiliation, the casual cruelty, the way her sisters treated their knights like property while mocking her for refusing to participate. That princess would have been crying by now, or shouting, or fleeing the pavilion in shame.
But Elara wasn't that princess.
She reached for her tea cup with deliberate calm, took a measured sip, and set it down with porcelain precision. Then she looked at Sera with the faintest smile.
"You're right," she said quietly. "They are quite impressive."
Sera's triumph lasted exactly two seconds.
"But really, Sister," Elara continued, still smiling that small, sad smile, "do you need to brag so much about warriors who can't even last the night?"
