The palace was too quiet.
Selena sat by the narrow window of her chamber, her knees pulled to her chest, her fingers tracing the worn fabric of her mother's dress. The moonlight spilled across the floor, painting pale lines over the cold stone. Outside, she could hear the faint howl of the wind dragging over the battlements, a lonely sound that seemed to echo her own restless thoughts.
Tomorrow. By dawn, she would stand before the Trial. The word alone twisted her stomach. She had no idea what form it would take only the whispers of servants, half-remembered legends, and Kael's grave expression when the Queen Dowager had declared it.
Her hands trembled, not from the night's chill but from the weight of what lay ahead. What if I fail? What if I prove her right that I am nothing but a girl plucked from the wilderness, unworthy of even the memory of a crown?
