The morning sky was a bruised, grey smear, threatening rain that never came. Inside Castle Valdren, the air was thick with the smell of damp stone, horse s**t, and the desperate, frantic energy of people trying to stay alive.
Servants scurried through the corridors like rats, heads down, carrying baskets of stale bread and buckets of water. Guards shifted along the walls, their eyes empty, their hands ready to beat anyone who looked at them wrong. Stable boys led horses into the courtyard, the animals kicking and biting, just as miserable as the humans.
And in the kitchens, the hell of the day had already begun.
Elara stood beside a long, grimy wooden table, her fingers slick with the slime of peeled vegetables. Her hands moved automatically, muscle memory taking over, but her mind was
