(Ashina POV)
The old feast hall of Northridge glittered with silver cups, red candles, stolen banners, and flowers cut from Queen Rudina’s garden.
I sat at the head of the long table, wearing white silk under my cloak and the blue shawl I had stolen from Daciana.
The shawl had been torn and stained, but I wore it proudly because broken things looked beautiful when they belonged to defeated women.
Around me, the marked servants moved like dream-walkers, filling cups, lighting candles, arranging plates, and whispering my name with empty mouths.
Hrolf stood behind my chair with his sword drawn, while Boris sat chained near my feet like a dog who had outlived his use.
I had promised him safety when this was done, but men like Boris never understood that promises were cheaper than bread.
