For a moment that stretched into eternity, the prince regarded Eiravyne with an inscrutable expression.
"The Romani," he repeated slowly, as if testing the truth of her words. "And yet, here you are."
His words carried an unspoken accusation, hinting at doubts that lingered beneath the surface.
Eiravyne's heart raced, her mind racing to find the right words to defend herself, to explain the complexities of her survival amidst tragedy.
Before she could respond, the prince continued, his voice laced with subtle sarcasm yet impeccably polite.
"Lady Eiravyne... your association with the Duke of Wandova is rather intriguing, wouldn't you agree? Announcing your engagement to him and residing together, all while Verdant Vale remains without its rightful Verenth rulers."
Each word felt like a carefully aimed arrow, probing into her decisions and motives with precision.
