Beauty. Power. Nova
But the music changed.
Muted strings hung suspended mid-note. A silence crept out like a velvet cloak across the great court—not sudden, not shocked, but slow, like a breath caught in anticipation of revelation. Laughter died. Whispers ceased.
All were aware of it.
Someone was coming.
Each eye turned, each heart leaned toward the stairs—grasped as if by invisible gravity.
Then the announcer's voice called out, clear and authoritative, cutting through the stillness like a knife:
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome the coming of the kingdom's greatest flame, its most ravishing beauty—the war goddess of the western front. Feared by enemy kings, commanders, and generals in every land… beloved by her people…
The Duchess of Nova Dukedom.
Duchess Nova of House Nova."
Silence.
The instant the last syllable dissipated, it seemed as though the air itself remembered not how to breathe.
An intoxicated gasp passed through the gathering, ruffling like air across glass.
