#Chapter 31: The Legacy

(Violet’s POV) They didn’t riot. Not in the way commoners might, with fists and torches and shattered glass. Nobles unravel differently. Their violence is measured. Polished. Drenched in silk and scent and disbelief sharp enough to draw blood. The first wave came in the form of murmurs—too loud to be ignored, too soft to be condemned. House representatives turned to each other with thinly masked horror, exchanging glances like they were confirming a shared hallucination. One woman from the western gallery gripped her fan so tightly the delicate lace shredded in her palm. A minor lord from the Eastern Front actually stood and shouted, “This is a staged farce—she’s not of royal blood!” No one answered him because others were already on their feet. They didn’t know what to do with me—not yet. I wasn’t a traitor, not a usurper, not entirely an orphan. I was something worse. I was possible. The Chief Justicar slammed his gavel once, twice, again. “This is still a court of la