The next morning, the castle felt wrong.
Not empty, not yet. Just… tense. Like the walls themselves knew something was about to change.
Servants moved through the halls with that strange, brisk energy people get when royalty is leaving for a long trip. Luggage had been packed. Travel cloaks had been brought down.
There were lists everywhere. Actual lists, enchanted lists, and at least one floating reminder scroll following Seraphine around like a nervous ghost.
And in the middle of all that chaos, my mother was doing the absolute most.
"Do not open the west tower windows after midnight," Seraphine said, adjusting the clasp on Riley's cloak for the third time. "The draft there is unnatural."
"It's called wind," Rowena muttered under her breath.
Seraphine ignored her.
"And if anyone from the southern district requests an audience, refuse immediately."
"We are not ruling in your absence," I pointed out.
"You are Valthornes. People will bother you anyway."
Fair.
