(Rosaline POV)
Snow had fallen through the night.
When I wake, the palace gardens beyond Arthur's balcony lie buried beneath a quiet white blanket. Frost clings to the iron railings. The sky is pale, the sun only a dim silver disk behind clouds.
Winter has fully claimed the capital.
I finish tying the final ribbon at my sleeve when Priscilla enters with a tray of tea.
"You slept three hours," she says.
It is not a question.
"It was sufficient."
Her brows knit together.
"You said that yesterday."
"And I was correct yesterday as well."
She sets the tray down with a small sigh.
Before she can protest further, a knock sounds at the chamber doors.
A palace attendant bows when Priscilla opens them.
"Lady Rosaline, Her Grace Lady Elysande requests your presence."
The words are gentle.
Formal.
But they carry weight.
Priscilla glances toward me.
I simply nod.
"Inform Her Grace I will attend immediately."
The attendant bows again and departs.
