The request came on the eleventh evening, delivered not by Sir Edric but by a young northern page whose face was still smooth with youth but whose eyes held the watchful alertness of his lord's training. He slipped into my room like a shadow, bowed once, and extended a folded piece of parchment sealed with the Frost family crest—a mountain peak wreathed in ice.
I broke the seal with trembling fingers. The note inside was brief, written in Kaelen's own hand: Midnight. Library, restricted section. Come alone. Trust no one but Sir Edric to guide you.
My heart hammered against my ribs. A private meeting. Away from guards and spies. The words carried a weight that had nothing to do with their simplicity. He was reaching out, finally, after days of silent observation. And he was asking me to come to him.
