The hall froze.
Galfern turned slightly, addressing the gathered nobles so all could hear. "Her Majesty reports that preparations are underway for the coronation of the new Crown Princess of Dythrid."
A gasp broke somewhere to the left.
Metheea's knees weakened.
Galfern continued, voice even, proud. "Her Majesty Queen Tilde requests that Princess Metheea return home to accept her role as heir to the throne."
Silence crushed the hall.
Metheea felt the words hit her like a blow.
Heir.
Crown Princess.
She looked at Azrayel. He was right.
Azrayel did not move.
Except his mana.
It surged dangerously, a quiet roar under his skin, hot enough that the nearest candles flickered in response.
"Home," Azrayel repeated softly. "You call Dythrid her home."
Galfern swallowed but did not back down. "Princess Metheea carries the blood of Dythrid. Her Majesty recognizes her rightful place among her mother's people. She requests the princess to present herself soon."
