The guards bowed and left the hall. Minutes passed; long, slow and suffocating minutes.
Then, Elveryn arrived. The garden grew even colder as she was not dressed in royal silks.
She was not dressed in noble elegance. She was barely dressed at all. A thin, almost transparent dress clung to her body, mocking what she once was.
She did not wear a crown. She did not wear jewels. She did not wear anything but shame.
Tears streaked down her face, but she did not wipe them away. She only stared at the queen, her body trembling, her hands curled into fragile fists but she danced.
Because she had to. She moved, slow and graceful, like a wraith. Like a ghost of the princess she once was. Like a living tragedy.
The nobles could barely look. Some turned their heads away, ashamed. Some watched in morbid fascination.
Some, especially those who once supported Diane stayed silent, terrified because this was a warning. This was what happened when one dared to challenge the queen.
