Javier leaned back in his chair, one hand covering his mouth as if to stifle a yawn, but his sharp eyes caught everything.
The doors opened wide, and Princess Kliatana entered with a grace. Her gown flowed with each step, chin lifted, pace measured, regal, deliberate.
The chamber stirred. Dozens of nobles rose from their seats, but Javier's gaze narrowed. Only two stood with genuine respect, the rest following because one man had already risen. It was clear enough to Javier, even without knowing all their titles. They moved like reeds in the wind, bending not for Kliatana, but for the duke's shadow.
Beside her walked General Gilmon, clad in his heavy uniform, scarred but disciplined. Royal guards followed close, polished and stern. But among them, Javier's eye caught a flicker of movement, a step too silent, a presence too sharp. His lips twitched.
Armand shadows units. Disguised among her escort.
Father really went this far to guard her?
