That specific letter arrived on a morning that was entirely too tranquil for the baseline standards of my mortal life.
The sky was pristine. Birds were chirping. The wind was blowing softly. And for some inexplicable reason… every single shred of it felt incredibly suspicious.
Granted, experiencing a thoroughly peaceful day is a perfectly ordinary occurrence for the masses, but absolutely not within the vocabulary of my existence. Historically, whenever my life locked into a state of tranquility like this, it could only translate to a single definitive reality—
A divine catastrophe was currently standing in a long queue waiting its turn.
"My Lady, a formal letter has arrived for your person."
Clara advanced with high-velocity steps, carrying a distinct envelope sealed with that intensely familiar black wax.
My heart instantaneously accelerated its rhythm.
That specific seal.
That crest.
That handwriting.
Duke Tristan.
