Seraphine's POV
It was noon. The smell of lunch rose from the kitchen—rich meat broth with little circles of fat on top, steamed vegetables, watered wine. Zoey arranged the tray with care: cups on the left, bowl in the center, bread in a basket.
“Two hands, slow steps, stop at the threshold,” she reminded me. She knew my right hand still rushed ahead of me sometimes. I nodded; the iron at my wrist chimed.
From the study came the sound of running water. Darius rarely took long at midday, but the morning had been heavy. Dust lay on the edge of the open map, as if someone had brought a hint of the outer yard inside. Cassian stood at the door, speaking quietly with a guard down the corridor.
“Go now,” Zoey said.
I stepped inside with the tray. The weight was familiar. I was just about to
