ANDREA’S POV
The smell hit first.
Smoke… not fresh, but old, settled into soil and clothing and skin. It clung to everything. Even the air tasted burnt.
I stepped down from my horse, my boots crunching over blackened straw and broken timber. What used to be a grain barn was now just a skeleton of beams, half-buried in ash.
Wolves and villagers moved quietly through the wreckage, coughing, searching for anything left to salvage.
No one cried. It was the kind of grief that didn’t make sound.
I swallowed hard. “How long ago did this happen?”
One of the farmers stepped forward, soot streaking his face. His hands were shaking – not because he feared me, but because he was exhausted.
“Late last night, my Queen. We put out what we could. Lost most of the grain. Winter stocks too.”
Winte
