Patricia's heels struck the marble with measured fury, the same rhythm she'd once used in court when walking past enemies. The silk of her gown whispered against her skin as she pivoted at the end of the sitting room, then turned to pace again, jaw set like a blade.
"A beta," she hissed. "And not just any beta, a disgraced one. A fallen princess who dares to act like she belongs in the Imperial family."
She paused in front of the fireplace, staring into the cold, empty grate as if she might summon the fire of old alliances. Her fingers trembled with the need to do something, anything, besides stand by while her son was bartered off like a second-rate heirloom.
"My Elliot," she muttered, voice low and burning. "Married off to that brat just to clean up the Emperor's mess."
The door creaked open. Patricia didn't turn. Her tone was sharp, practiced. "If it's you, Elliot, don't waste your breath defending your stupidity again."
