The Da Villes were leaving.
Not in disgrace, they were too powerful for that. And not in triumph either. But with the cold, clinical efficiency that had always defined them. Their carriages rolled out at dawn, silent as blades.
Beatrice watched from the upper balcony as the procession began its descent toward the main gates. She hadn't slept. The events of the past days had turned the palace into a crucible, and her body still ached with the lingering heat of it. She gripped the marble railing, knuckles white.
They had summoned her privately before departing.
It wasn't a request.
She entered the antechamber alone. No guards. No advisors. Just Conrad, Ethel, and Magnus. Each one sharper than the last.
The door clicked shut behind her.
"Well," Lord Conrad said, rising from his chair. "The future queen arrives."
Beatrice didn't smile. "You're leaving early."
"We've accomplished what we came for," Ethel said, smoothing her gloves.
