The morning after Lucian's warning brought another visitor to my door. Not a grey functionary or a smiling courtier, but a simple messenger in the livery of House Thorne—a young man with wind-reddened cheeks and the uncomfortable posture of one who has ridden through the night to deliver urgent news. Sir Edric admitted him after the usual search, his eyes narrowing at the familiar crest on the messenger's tunic.
The young man bowed hastily, his gaze flickering to me with the same awe I had grown accustomed to seeing in every face. He produced a letter from his satchel, the parchment sealed with the black tree of Thorne, and extended it with trembling hands.
"From His Grace, your father, my lady. Most urgent."
I took the letter, my fingers cold against the familiar wax. The messenger retreated, clearly eager to escape the weight of my presence. Sir Edric showed him out and resumed his post, leaving me alone with the parchment and the dread it carried.
I broke the seal.
