Behind her closed eyelids, Arabella saw a vision. It was of a tall man with jet-black hair and piercing crimson eyes, their intensity both bloody and magnetic. He stood before a forest, its shadows shifting as if it spoke to him. For a fleeting moment, she noticed his crimson gaze falter, a subtle quiver betraying him. The flawless mask he wore, so carefully crafted to hide his emotions, revealed its first crack.
"...a peasant... no manners, that's why they could sleep on the floor. Doesn't she look like a used rag?" The sharp, mocking voice pierced through the haze of Arabella's sleep, dragging her back into wakefulness.
Slowly, her senses sharpened, and she realized she was curled up on the cold, unforgiving marble floor. Her knees were hugged tightly to her chest for warmth as she lay there, exactly as Princess Marissa had instructed, waiting outside Queen Morgana's room until she came out.
