Lila
The summons arrived just after breakfast.
A folded parchment sealed in black wax, delivered by a silent steward who refused to meet my eyes. I didn’t need to open it to know who it was from. The weight of it pressed into my hands like a stone.
Henry never requested. He summoned. And when he did, it meant something was already broken—or about to be.
I stood in the center of my suite for a long moment after the steward left, the unopened letter still in my palm. My stomach tightened. I should have felt ready. But my father always had a way of slipping under the skin, no matter how many layers of armor I wore.
I dressed carefully. Something formal enough to suggest composure. Casual enough to suggest I wasn’t there for a fight.
The walk to the receiving room was silent, save for
