Three days after the executions, the palace began to breathe again.
Servants moved more freely through the corridors. Nobles who'd been holding their breath slowly returned to their routines. The marketplaces reopened, merchants hawking their wares with renewed enthusiasm now that the purge was officially over. The empire, it seemed, was eager to move past the blood and chaos into something resembling normalcy.
I should have known better.
It was Elian who first showed symptoms.
He'd been fine at breakfast—bright-eyed and chattering about his upcoming riding lessons. By midday, he was pale and listless, complaining of stomach pains. By dinner, he was burning with fever, thrashing in his bed while physicians crowded around with increasingly worried expressions.
"What's wrong with him?" I demanded, gripping the bedpost so hard my knuckles went white. "He was fine this morning!"
