The rain came down in sheets, hard enough to sting.
Isabella barely felt it. Her knees pressed into the cobblestones outside Samantha's gate, her spine straight despite the water running into her eyes.
“I need to see her," she told the guards again.
The taller one shifted his grip on his halberd. “The Luna is not receiving."
“I'm not leaving."
They exchanged a glance. “You can wait," the shorter one said, “but you won't be let in."
“Then I'll wait."
---
Minutes bled into hours. The cold settled in her bones.
Courtiers passed under covered lanterns, pretending not to see her. Those who did glance in her direction whispered to each other—too soft to hear, but Isabella knew the tone: scandal, pity, curiosity sharpened for gossip.
A flash of movement beyond the gate—Samantha's silhou
