He turns to leave, and I follow, my mind racing. As we walk back through the halls, I count the guards—four at the corridor entrance, two by the stairwell, one by the eastern door. Each wears the same crest on their breastplate: a black hawk.
When we pass a servant polishing the marble rail, Camille doesn’t even glance at her. That’s what the queen said—look for the ones they overlook. I take note of her face, the way she keeps her eyes down, how she disappears as soon as we’re gone.
By the time we reach my room, I’ve memorized three corridors, two staircases, and the distance from the library to the main hall. Not enough. Not yet.
***
That night, I lie awake listening to the faint hum behind the walls—the sound of the palace breathing. I wait until the guards change posts, then rise q
