Shadows in the Palace
The palace did not sleep that night.
Torches burned along every corridor, flames flickering wild against the carved stone walls. Servants scurried with heads bowed, too afraid to meet one another's eyes. The air was thick—choked with smoke, with whispers, with dread.
At the heart of it all, in the great hall, the Queen Dowager sat like a storm waiting to break.
Her hands rested on the arms of her chair, fingers digging into the polished wood so hard her knuckles whitened. A shattered cup lay at her feet, wine bleeding across the marble floor like blood.
No one dared to move until she spoke.
And when she did, her voice was so low, so dangerous, that the silence itself seemed to shiver.
"Find her."
Her gaze flicked upward, sharp as a blade, pinning the trembling captain of the guard in place. His armor clinked as he bowed, sweat dripping down his temples.
"Your Grace… the forest is vast. We've sent riders, but—"
