Margaret’s heart thrummed with a greedy thrill as she stepped from the carriage in Fror, the journey from Vintr unfolding with an ease that felt almost fated. The cobblestone path to the castle, once her home, gleamed under torchlight, stirring a flicker of nostalgia she quickly smothered. She wished, not for the first time, that Kate had been more like Deborah—sharp, cunning, a mirror to Margaret’s own desires. Their bond had formed swiftly in Vintr, forged over shared tastes for luxury and manipulation, a camaraderie that made motherhood seem briefly tolerable. But Kate’s stubborn honor was a liability, a loose end to be severed for the life of ease Margaret craved.
Charles had been pliable, agreeing to welcome her into Vintr’s fold if she handled Kate permanently. Her lips twitched wit
