Astrid
Castleburg breathed in silence that night. The kind of hush that preceded storms. I sat in Magnus’ study, wrapped in a cloak lined with wolf fur—one of the only things soft in this fortress of stone.
A knock came. Not hesitant. Not urgent. Measured. Familiar.
“Come in,” I said.
Salric stepped in with her usual poise, but she wasn’t alone.
Beside her stood a human girl—young, maybe eighteen, with long curls the colour of dusk and wide, apprehensive eyes. She smelled like clean linen, fear, and above all, I could smell the blood pulsing from her neck.
My stomach clenched.
The girl bowed her head. “Your Majesty.”
I looked at Salric. “You brought me a girl?”
“She volunteered,” Salric said smoothly. “House Vashkar has employed her family for generations. She knows what this is.”
