Midnight settled over the kingdom like a cold veil, quieting every corridor and dimming every torch until the palace seemed to breathe in slow, uneasy rhythms. Most wolves slept. A few guards whispered at their posts. But Elira was awake, her pulse sharp, her mind sharper.
She sat on the edge of her bed for a long time, fingers interlocked, staring at the door. The candle beside her flickered, throwing soft gold against her pale face. She looked almost peaceful. But her eyes told a different story. They were not restless or fearful. They were focused.
Focused on Vanya.
She had spent most of the night listening to her own thoughts, the same thoughts that had chased her for days. Vanya's plan. Vanya's voice. Vanya's confidence. Vanya's smirk. Vanya's assurance that she knew how to "manage Gonzalo," that she understood the power surrounding him, that she could bring him close first.
Elira had agreed then. She had smiled. She had nodded.
