Olivia’s POV
The fire burned low, shadows flickering across the faces of the warriors standing guard. Sleep was a stranger that night; it hovered close, then fled each time my eyes closed. My body ached from the ride, but my mind was louder than exhaustion.
Emily’s scroll sat crumpled on the small table beside Lucas’s chair, its red seal broken, its poison already spreading.
She would be at the council chambers. With proof.
I traced my fingers along the grain of the wooden bench where I sat, trying to still the tremor in my hands. The word “proof” looped endlessly in my mind. What proof could she possibly have? What lies had she spun so tightly they resembled truth?
Across the camp, Lucas sharpened his blade. The rasp of steel on stone was steady, rhythmic—too steady, too controlled.
