The night before the banquet fell with a hush, velvet-dark and heavy with promise.
The castle had quieted early, the halls emptying as courtiers and servants retreated to their quarters, preparing themselves for the grand day ahead.
Only the faintest traces of lingering sound remained—the distant rustle of robes, the fading echo of bootsteps on stone.
Outside their chamber windows, the stars blinked awake one by one, scattering across the sky like watchful eyes.
Inside, Elysia sat on the edge of their bed, knees drawn up beneath her nightgown, a book resting in her lap unread.
The candlelight flickered gently against the stone walls, casting shadows that swayed like slow dancers.
She wasn't cold if anything, the room was warm from the fire but her arms were wrapped around herself all the same, as if bracing against something invisible.
Her gaze stayed fixed on Malvoria.
