Hope

Camille’s office is warmer than anywhere else in the castle, maybe because he keeps a fire burning even when the rest of the halls are freezing. Or maybe it’s because he is here, sitting across from me with that unreadable calm that always makes me wonder what he’s hiding and what he wants me to think he’s hiding. I sit in the armchair opposite him, my fingers curled around a mug of tea I’m not drinking. Tomorrow is the announcement. Tomorrow everything changes—again.

He watches me over the rim of his own cup. “You’re quiet,” he says. His voice is steady, deep, that controlled rumble that could be comforting...