Jessica Lewis
It had been a week since we arrived at Tristan’s real home. if you could call a place this massive a home. The mansion — no, the castle — still felt like something out of a movie. Endless hallways, rooms I hadn’t even seen yet, and way too much space for someone like me who wasn’t used to luxury.
I was still getting lost, still hesitant to touch things for fear they were older than my entire bloodline, and still trying to figure out where I fit in this strange new life.
This morning I woke up to the smell of coffee, rich and familiar, pulling me out of sleep. The tray beside my bed was set with pastries, fruit, and my favorite — a cinnamon roll almost too pretty to eat.
And right next to the plate was a single folded note.
Follow the roses.
My brow arched, curiosity re
