In the grand dining hall, where heavy velvet drapes muffled the outside world and the long table stretched like a battlefield under flickering candlelight, Lumina sat alone. Her plate of venison and root vegetables steamed untouched before her. The poison still simmered low in her blood, but the real heat came from the ache in her chest—days without Ashen's touch, nights without his voice in the dark. She lifted her fork mechanically, then froze.
A cluster of maids passed behind her, giggling softly, heads bent together. Lumina recognized them instantly: Breilla's chosen girls, the ones who strutted like they owned the corridors now.
"How come you have no courtesy to greet as you walk by?" she called, voice calm but edged with steel.
The girls paused, turned slowly. Their smiles faded.
"Good day, my lady," one muttered, barely audible.
