Far above the infirmary, in a chamber cloaked with drawn curtains and guarded doors, Queen Seraphina sat in silence. The queen of Florabelle was always a vision of serene command, her red hair woven into flawless braids, her posture regal, voice calm. But tonight her knuckles were pale against the carved arms of her chair.
Lucien stood at her right, the eldest prince, broad-shouldered and still as stone. He had said little since the summons, but his eyes never left Lady Marwen as she bowed low before them.
"You were the only adult present," Seraphina said at last, her tone even but carrying the weight of command. "Speak plainly, Marwen. What happened?"
