"Cintra, darling? You're still awake?" It was the voice of the noblewoman's father, Carlyle Thane, calling to her from the darkened chamber behind her. He wore a kind expression that was laced with worry, and in his hand was a pair of teacups. "I can't sleep either," he said before she could explain. "I've watched the Queen Mother's coronation a dozen times over."
A disdainful furrow formed in Cintra's brows. "Which one?" Her tone carried with it frustration and anger. Carlyle answered matter-of-factly, grumbling, "The only one that matters."
"Cortana Djo is my Queen Mother."
"There's plenty who'd disagree," Cintra returned. Her father chuckled, as though she were telling a joke.
"The Mandalorian puppet is no more the Erenada than the syndicate rat before her." He offered Cintra a steaming cup before easing onto the marble bench beside her with a groan. He blew his cup, took a small sip, and looked to meet her eyes. "We face very serious challenges ahead, my dear. But we must never forget who we are."
"House Thane of Vergill," Cintra confirmed with a nod.
Her father smiled, echoing, "House Thane of Vergill."
