The Return of the Emperor
Being Dharakand’s princess had trained her to read the deceit lurking behind familiar faces, and to suspect the motives wrapped in an emperor’s summons.
“Greetings, Your Majesty,” she said, curtseying.
He gave the smallest nod—acknowledgment without warmth, the kind of gesture that said her respect was expected, not earned. Typical of a man who thought his crown made him the measure of all things.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, his tone smooth—pleasant on the surface. But she could see the calculation beneath it.
The question unsettled her. Why does he care about her health? Kings don’t ask out of kindness—they ask to see where the cracks are.
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