The Hall of Mirrors lay silent beneath vaulted arches, the lanterns' glow fracturing across a thousand reflections. Nora crept between the columns, breath shallow, clutching the leather satchel pressed to her chest. Jorin's instructions echoed in her ears: slip through the servants' wing, use the hidden latch in the western wall, and escape through the maze of back corridors. Freedom lay just beyond—if she could only reach it.
A soft click sounded behind her. Nora froze. Turning, she nearly collided with a tall woman in an ivory gown, needle and thread in hand.
“Watch your step," the woman hissed, voice panicked. “I need to finish these fittings before dawn!"
Nora's hood fell back. “I'm so sorry—I thought this was the way to the laundry door."
The princess—Elsa Whitlock—glanced at the
