Delia's POV
When Alen brought that man before me, I could hardly recognize him as my once proud father.
Oh no, I no longer wish to call him father; he is now simply Mr. Orban.
Unlike our encounter in the temple, this time I could scrutinize his appearance more directly.
He looked completely aged. His partially white hair lay limp against his scalp. His once upright posture had slouched. There was no longer a longing for power in his eyes, only a sense of elderliness that hardly resembled an alpha.
"Your Royal Highness... and Delia, greetings to you both."
I was adorned in a specially tailored royal attire, seated on a gilded high-backed chair, while my father—Mr. Orban—stood before me with eyes cast down, visibly restless.
