The voice boomed like divine punishment.
A royal messenger—a young, terrified-looking man in purple and gold—emerged from the treeline like a curse in silk.
I gasped. “Are you KIDDING ME—”
Alaric’s hand jerked away like I was made of lava. I glared at the messenger so hard he flinched.
“Apologies, Lady Abby!” he said, eyes wide. “Urgent summons from the Queen herself!”
“Oh really?” I snapped, dripping water, cheeks pink. “Is it urgent enough to interrupt divine intervention?”
Alaric coughed into his fist. The messenger blinked. “I—I just deliver scrolls, my lady…”
Norma’s voice echoed from the camp behind us:
“Tell him she’ll come in a minute! Or five! Depending how long it takes for lightning to recharge!”
The poor messenger looked like he wanted to vanish.
I took the scroll, st
