The carriage wheels clattered along cobblestones as Marin Ashveil peered through the iron bars of her cage. Night had fallen over Bloodmoor Palace, its gilded spires glowing beneath torchlight. Servants in powdered wigs and velvet coats flitted past, their whispered gossip rippling through the crisp air.
Elias Bloodmoor rode at the lead, his breath visible in the chill. He glanced back at Marin, his crimson eyes softer in the lantern glow. “We're here," he murmured, voice low enough that only she could hear. “Remember our plan."
Marin pressed her forehead against the cold iron, nodding once. “Page Rowan." She tapped her palm twice—“Follow."
Elias slid from his saddle and lifted the cage door. Guards stepped aside as he offered Marin his gauntlet. She placed her chained hand in his, slip
