(Daciana POV)
The lower house of Blackfang had not changed, yet every stone seemed to remember the morning I was dragged from Luna to a prisoner.
The air smelled of old bread, soap, ashes, damp cloth, and the quiet fear of servants who had watched too much from corners.
Some stepped back when I entered.
Some bowed.
Some cried.
Some looked at my servant brown and could not decide whether I had returned as one of them or as the queen they feared.
Rieka followed behind me, though several Northridge guards watched her closely because Gonzalo’s last words still haunted every step.
She slept beside my door.
Not Rieka.
Maybe Rieka.
Maybe someone placed that thought inside us because suspicion could kill faster than poison when fed correctly.
“I can wait outside,” Rieka said, her voice
