Theresa lingered near the edge of the practice room, her brown eyes calculating, lips curved in a faint, almost imperceptible smile. The bustle of the ball preparations outside was distant. Here, it was quiet, except for the soothing tunes Riven was playing. He was practising quite hard.
His black wolf ears twitched nervously, focused on the delicate strings beneath his fingers, unaware that he was about to become a pawn in a plan far larger than he could imagine.
Theresa stepped forward, moving with the poise of a Queen yet carrying the aura of someone who belonged anywhere she pleased. In her hands was a bundle of parchment—sheet music neatly tied with a silver ribbon. She laid it gently on the music stand, as if placing a gift before a child.
