“I’m adaptable.” Ingrid’s grin was all sharp teeth and misplaced optimism, but before I could muster a retort, she tugged me forward—through the arched doorway of the Common Hall and into the marble corridors beyond.
I let myself be pulled along, more out of resignation than compliance, feet scuffing against the stone like a prisoner being marched to the gallows. The halls, gilded and cold, echoed with the faint hum of laughter and footsteps, each sound a reminder that I was a foreigner in a kingdom of bloodlines and inherited grace.
We reached the east wing—quieter, older, the air tinged with the scent of earth and green things. The greenhouse loomed ahead, its iron-framed dome glinting in the pale afternoon light. Inside, condensation streaked down the glass panes, softening the sharp
