Sapphire stirred awake, blinking against the soft morning light. Her heart skipped as she found a figure seated casually at the edge of her bed.
"Fletcher?" she croaked, startled. "You scared me."
He rolled his eyes, arms folded. "You're dramatic. How are you feeling?"
Her brows furrowed. "So… you know?"
She lowered her gaze to her hands, suddenly self-conscious. Word of her failed marriage must've reached them.
How was she ever going to face them now?
"Does it matter?" he asked bluntly his gaze steady, there was no judgment, no pity, just genuine curiosity.
She nodded faintly. "I'm… embarrassed."
"News travels fast in a manor like this," he shrugged, "but don't worry, it won't stay fresh for long."
His eyes drifted around her modest chamber with visible distaste. "So this is your room? Hm. I should tell Uncle Typhon to give you a bigger one. Or maybe…" His lips curved mischievously. "We wait till we're married."
Sapphire cringed and flicked his forehead. "You're too young for that thought."
"I'm not! I'm rich, young, and ridiculously handsome, what more do you want in a man?"
Sapphire bit her lower lip, trying not to laugh. Fletcher noticed.
"Come on. Laugh it out." He gave her a lopsided grin.
At last, she chuckled. "Why are you really here?"
"I want you to come to my joust this week," he said brightly.
"I—" she hesitated. "I can't. I have work."
Fletcher stood, brushing imaginary dust off his coat. "Then I'll speak to Uncle Typhon. I want my lady cheering me on."
He winked. Sapphire groaned.
"Let's get tea and catch up on that antidote you're making," he said casually.
Sapphire arched a brow, arms folded. "Do you always sneak into a lady's room?"
"You make it sound bad that way," Fletcher replied, feigning innocence.
Her frown deepened in mock severity.
"Okay, okay—next time I'll knock. Happy?"
"Very," she said, a soft laugh escaping her lips.
She looked at him, her smile fading into something gentler, grateful. He wasn't just a child; not really. He was a kid who'd grown too early.
***
The Kings study doors burst open, and the royal riders stumbled in, bloodied, bruised, their cloaks torn by arrows and thorns.
Agnes rushed forward, eyes narrowing. "What happened?"
One of the riders fell to his knees. "Shem... refused us entry, Your Majesty. We were ambushed at the border... barely made it out alive."
Agnes turned to the king, rage simmering beneath his calm voice. "We don't need the ball to tell us Shem is cutting diplomatic ties with Hivites."
He bowed his head slightly. "How dare they."
Isis stood, unmoving. His jaw clenched, but his face remained unreadable. He stared into nothing for a long beat, calculating, quiet.
Agnes continued, "This is an act of war, Your Majesty."
Still, the king said nothing, his silence louder than any outburst.
The kingdom was crumbling from the inside out. And Isis knew, it had already begun.
"Summon the lords," Isis finally said, voice cold.
"If Shem thinks we'll kneel, they are mistaken."