The palace felt wrong that dawn, as if the lacquered corridors themselves had been carved by some jagged surprise. Lantern light trembled in the colonnade like nervous hearts.
Ananya's hands shook when the messenger bowed before her; the seal on the paper was smeared with travel dust and blood.
Her eyes skimmed the lines, each phrase a cold iron into her chest: an ambush on the road… Duke Lian wounded… delivered to his house… urgent aid required. The rest of the room blurred.
She had thought herself steady. She had thought the world could take heat and return to temper. The words in that letter made her feel as if she might splinter.
She could hear the household calling for a physician, servants whispering, but everything narrowed to a single thought: Father.
Far away, in another wing, Lady Chen did not receive a letter that would ease a heart. She received one that lit a fuse. Her father's courier arrived just before dawn with news—news that made her porcelain face crack.
