Lyra’s POV
The sound of carriage wheels on stone echoed through the courtyard, and every head turned.
From the open door stepped Freya, pale but upright, her arm supported by the palace doctor, Sir Dorian. Her steps were slow, cautious, yet they carried weight heavier than soldiers’ boots.
Her return stirred whispers like wildfire through the palace. She was supposed to be resting, hidden away until her body could stitch itself whole again. Yet here she was, summoned not by her own strength but by the hunger of men seated in the council chamber.
The council wanted blood, and Freya’s presence meant they would have it. She cast me a look that said she'd gotten my note, and things will go exactly as I had planned them. I nodded in acknowledgment as the guards escorted her to the council
