Chancellor Guinness promptly echoed her sentiment.
"There's no point in complaining now. Let's just be thankful they didn't crown kings all the way back to the eighth generation of his ancestors. A mere baron—declaring himself king. Unbelievable."
Grand Prince Maximilian stood apart, emotions tangled in a web of discomfort and envy.
He leaned toward an aide and muttered quietly.
"Well… technically, he's the rightful heir of a kingdom that fell long ago. Maybe that gives him the right to claim the throne, no matter how watered-down the bloodline may be. Still… I can't help but be jealous."
His gaze shifted to Queen Dowager Guinevere, dressed as flamboyantly as a peacock.
"To show up dressed like that when we're flying on wyverns? Tch. Truly, vulgarity has no cure."
Maximilian himself had a tenuous claim to the throne of Pasha, stemming from an ancestor who had married a Pashan princess.
But as long as Alphonso—the direct heir—was alive, he couldn't assert any real claim.
