Lila’s POV
The cabin was small and rough-hewn, tucked between the trees like a secret waiting to be found. Its thatched roof sagged under the weight of moss and years, and strange symbols carved into the wooden beams seemed to shimmer faintly in the moonlight. I barely had time to register them before Iris tugged me toward the heavy oak door.
Inside, warmth and the scent of sage rushed over me, and the sound of soft conversation hushed into silence. Eleven women turned to face us — some young, some old — their gazes curious but not unfriendly.
“There she is,” breathed an older woman, setting down a battered teapot that sloshed in her hand. “At last.”
I hesitated awkwardly in the doorway, but Iris beamed and shrugged off her cloak, tossing it onto a hook.
"Come in, princess," Marguerit
