The palace never truly slept, not even in the dead of night.
But this time, it wasn’t the quiet hum of distant footsteps or the crackle of torches along the marble halls that kept me awake. It was that note. That ring. And the dried smear of blood that clung to the metal like a curse.
I sat by the edge of the bed, the velvet pouch still resting on my lap, its contents etched into my memory like claw marks on glass.
Who had sent it? And why now?
The script on the note wasn’t Alexis’s—of that I was certain. But it was someone who knew her. Or at least wanted to make it seem like she was at the center of something darker.
The door creaked open.
Jayden.
He looked exhausted, still dressed in his black button down shirt and trouser from the council meeting, his eyes shadowed and drawn.
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