Another maid followed, placing crystal dishes upon the table, pale confections dusted with frost sugar that glittered faintly under the palace light. Each plate was aligned with mathematical precision, edges parallel to the grain of the marble.
Hospitality, here, was ritual.
Only when the ritual concluded did Isolde speak.
"I do not deny," she said evenly, her voice smooth as untouched snow, "the presence of Invaders."
Her pale eyes settled on Duke, unhurried, unthreatened.
"But correlation does not equate to causation."
She lifted her cup again. Steam curled around her face, softening her features into something almost gentle.
"Mana imbalances occur naturally over time. Leylines shift. Energy accumulates." A faint pause. "The world breathes."
She took a measured sip.
"It is entirely possible that what you are witnessing is the consequence of destabilization within Velmora itself."
Bruce's gaze sharpened almost imperceptibly.
"Destabilization?" Duke repeated, tone mild.
