The page's face drained of color as Alice's command lashed through the air. His knees trembled beneath the invisible pressure of her mana, but he managed a strangled, "Y-yes, my lady," before stumbling toward the door.
Alice rose in a single, fluid motion, the hem of her coat snapping behind her like the crack of a whip. The faint frost that had begun to spread across the marble floor glittered beneath her boots as she moved.
Amelia followed at her side without a word, the faint glow of her own power bleeding into the room like a storm on the horizon. Servants froze in place as the two women swept past them—duchess and heir moving like a sharpened blade drawn for war.
The corridor beyond was alive with muffled sounds of celebration—laughter, the chime of crystal glasses, the distant echo of music. But beneath it all Alice heard only the frantic pound of her own pulse.
Julies.
Arrested.
