The palace was filled with an unearthly calm, the kind that boded only an unraveling.
It was the night of the Blood Moon, and all had the smell of ritual. Scarlet silk pennants flowed from the topmost arches, embroidered with silver runes to keep ill omens. Lanterns glowed moonstone nestled in fire, producing long shadows that danced across marble. The aroma of smoldering sage and night roses drifted in the halls like a ghost-smell—earthy, narcotic, and near to asphyxiating.
Cassie stood in her room, still amidst all the preparations. Her dress spread out over the chaise for her, a masterpiece—a starlight-threaded ivory slip so sheer it appeared like nothing at all, yet silk and smoke. The ceremonial veil, embroidered with the crest of the ruling family, glimmered with dew-like drops to
