War continued to burn at the borders.
Smoke still rose faintly in the eastern skies, and messengers rode in and out of the capital daily with reports from the battlefield.
The palace remained tense. Guards stood at every entrance. Servants whispered in corners.
But tension also created distraction.
And distraction created opportunity.
Hidden in a rented room near the market district, the trafficker studied the palace from afar.
His name was Ravel, with very cold eyes and a patient mind.
He had failed once before, and failure was not something his employer tolerated.
The man who had bought Annabelle Hale was powerful. Wealthy. Dangerous.
And impatient.
Ravel had sent word that the girl was alive inside the royal palace. The response had been simple.
Bring her. No excuses.
Now, w
