Delphine Rosenroth did not scream.
Not at first.
She stared at the screen in her private sitting room as if staring long enough might force the words to rearrange themselves into something acceptable. The ether-network's imperial priority ping still sat on the corner of the display like an insult, its crest, House Alamina, stamped with that maddening power that only the palace could afford.
FORMAL IMPERIAL NOTICE.
HOUSE ALAMINA.
Her eyes moved down.
DUKE GREGORIS AURELIAN FRASNER
and
RAFAEL ROSENROTH
Her hand, still holding a crystal tumbler, tightened around the glass.
'No.'
'No, no, no… This is wrong. This is impossible. This is—'
The line beneath it populated with the calm brutality of law:
Further, the Imperial House acknowledges that an heir is expected.
Delphine's breath went shallow.
Her fingers spasmed.
The tumbler shattered.
