[Her eyes widen as the sword comes out, her staff moving before her, nerves running through her, as she regrets a misreading, as she fears she has made a terrible mistake—

And then it falls. Caster stares at Percival, gripping her staff tight, as if it holds her up. Her breath is caught in her throat.]

I... You bear the demeanour of one who is Sovereign. Part of what I am allows me to identify this. Is this... not so?