Hope

The fire in my chamber burns low, licking faintly at the logs as I pace before it. The air smells of ash and lavender from the drying herbs hanging near the window. It’s late—too late for anyone to be awake but me. My mind refuses to quiet.

I’m halfway through gathering parchment and ink from the desk when the door creaks softly open.

“Lady Raya?”

It’s Lina.

She’s balancing a tray with a cup of warm milk and a plate of honeyed bread—the small kindness she insists on bringing me each night, though I never ask.

But tonight, something is wrong.

The instant the light from the fire touches...