(Rosaline POV)
The summons arrived before the morning frost had fully melted from the palace stone.
Priscilla entered my chamber quietly, but I could already sense something different in the air. The winter light streaming through the tall windows was pale and unforgiving, and the snow beyond the gardens reflected it like polished steel.
"Milady," she said softly, bowing. "Her Grace requests your presence."
Her Grace.
Not yet Empress.
Not yet crowned.
But already occupying the palace like she had been born to it.
Elysande Heathfield.
I folded the letter I had been reading and set it aside. "At this hour?"
"Yes, milady."
Of course it was at this hour.
When Arthur would be in early military council.
When Father would be at court.
When I would be alone.
I rose from my seat and smoothed the front of my gown. It was simple today—deep charcoal with silver embroidery. Nothing ostentatious. Nothing that could be mistaken for challenge.
