Beatrice woke early. The sky beyond her window was still bruised with dawn, and frost had crept in around the corners of the glass. Her first thought wasn't of war or titles or Da Ville whispers.
It was of Francois, still standing at her window when she finally fell asleep.
He hadn't said goodbye. Just stayed until the air grew cold and her body gave up its fight with exhaustion. When she stirred once in the early morning, the chair beside the hearth was already empty.
By the time she dressed and emerged into the corridor, the palace was already stirring. Servants carrying trays of documents and crystal pitchers. A scribe nearly collided with her while rushing toward the strategy wing.
Beatrice turned in the opposite direction. Toward the private dining hall.
The invitation had been formal. An official breakfast with Prince Francois to review council correspondence. But Lily had smirked when she handed it over.
"Official," she rolled her eyes, grinning. "Whatever."
