The man was frail, silver hair thinning, his frame trembling as he leaned on a worn cane. The woman clutched a faded cloth bag to her chest, her sorrowful eyes locked on Javier. Their clothes were humble, patched and faded, completely out of place among the silk gowns and tailored suits.

A chill crept over me. Who were they?

Leaning toward Javier, I whispered, “Darling, who are those people? Why are they here?”

He flinched, then muttered quickly, “Probably vagrants who sneaked inside. I’ll have them removed.”

I stopped him. “No, wait. Let me ask them to sit. They’re elderly. Poor souls—let them rest.”

Before I could move, my mother seized my arm, irritation flashing in her eyes. “Mariana! Don’t let strangers spoil this day. Call the guards.”