The moon of Zura hung high above the palace towers, its pale light pouring through silken drapes and pooling across the marble floors of the Princess's bed. The scent of roses and lavender, once comforting, now mingled with something strange, sweet yet acrid. Every maid lay sprawled on the marble floor, motionless, candles guttering out one by one.
Lireya stirred in her sleep, a restless frown forming between her brows. Her dreams had been filled with shadows—faces she could not name, eyes that gleamed with hate.
A faint click broke the silence.
The door opened a fraction, and a figure slipped through, a woman draped in a black cloak that shimmered faintly like silk soaked in moonlight. She moved with the grace of someone used to silence, her breath steady, her eyes cold. The faint trace of perfume she wore—violets and smoke—lingered as she crossed the threshold.
Lireya's eyes snapped open.
