POV-Serena
The air in Maeve’s private chamber smelled faintly of lavender and old parchment. Candlelight flickered across the tall shelves, casting the shadows of countless tomes across the walls like silent sentinels. The room was quiet, almost too quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against your chest until it became impossible to ignore.
Maeve was already seated behind her desk when I entered, her posture immaculate as always, hands folded lightly over one another, obsidian hair pinned perfectly, silver-threaded braid glinting in the firelight. I could feel her eyes, icy grey and unyielding, tracing my every movement.
“Sit,” she said, voice smooth, deliberate. “And do not speak until I indicate it.”
I hesitated at the threshold, boots quiet on the polished floor, sensing that t
