(Rosaline's POV)
An invitation arrived without ceremony.
No gilded seal. No flowery phrasing. No false warmth.
Just a single sheet of ivory parchment, delivered by a palace attendant whose eyes never quite met mine.
Lady Rosaline De Falon is requested to attend a private audience this afternoon.
No signature was needed.
There was only one woman in this palace who summoned rather than asked.
I folded the letter slowly, my fingers steady even as something cold settled beneath my ribs.
So.
She had decided it was time.
Priscilla hovered near the window, pretending to adjust the drapes while watching my reflection in the glass.
"Will you go?" she asked quietly.
"Yes."
No hesitation. No delay.
Running from a serpent only taught it you were prey.
I rose, smoothing my skirts. Today I wore no jewels, no colors meant to please. Black fabric, severe in its simplicity, silver thread only at the cuffs—subtle, restrained, deliberate.
Not a girl dressed to impress.
