The palace awoke, coughing on smoke. Servants ran through the halls with basins of water, courtiers whispered in corners, and guards shouted orders that were ignored. The blaze had been brought under control before it consumed the east wing, but its brand remained in the air—the acrid sting of burned stone and scorched silk was in every breath.
I had walked those halls with Wren and Arabella right behind me. To the casual observer, we must have seemed united, a tiny barricade of resistance. But I sensed the fissures on every step—the way Wren’s silence was taut with distrust, the way Arabella’s gaze flicked to the shadows as though a hand might emerge from them.
The council chamber lay ahead. Behind those doors, the king’s counselors and noble houses would already be assembling to lay bl
