Beatrice had never been one to let fear consume her.
It could linger, whisper at the edges of her mind, crawl into her bones in the dead of night, but she never let it win. She couldn't.
But the past few days had made it harder to ignore.
Gabriel's audacity. Francois' warning. The realization that the novel had never given her the full story. Every new revelation chipped away at the fragile stability she had created for herself.
And yet, the court continued as if nothing had changed. As if everything was still perfectly in place.
Beatrice walked through the halls of the palace that morning with the same carefully crafted poise as always. She acknowledged the bows and curtsies with a glance, her expression unreadable, her movements practiced.
Let them whisper. Let them watch.
She had more important things to worry about.
A summons had arrived that morning. One with the royal seal, bearing a simple but direct request.
The King requests your presence.
