The morning light broke softly over the stone walls of Valerius. Ravenna stood by the open window of her bedchamber, watching the servants begin their daily chores in the courtyard below. Women carried baskets of fresh bread from the bakeries, while young boys led horses toward the stables. It looked so ordinary and calm, yet inside her chest, the cold remained.
The chill clung to her bones like damp wool. It was an invisible frost that only she could sense, a quiet reminder of the ghost standing between her and the peace she wanted so badly. She touched her cheek. The redness had faded slightly, but the dull ache lingered under her skin, reminding her of the terrible choice hanging over her head.
A quiet knock at the door broke her thoughts.
Ravenna smoothed down the skirts of her simple gown, making sure her disguise was firmly in place. Her chestnut hair was pinned up, and her hazel eyes showed none of the fear churning in her belly. She opened the door.
A young maid bowed her head politely. "Lady Elara, the King requests your presence in the inner garden. He asked that you bring your healing herbs."
"Thank you. I will go at once," Ravenna replied softly.
She gathered a small pouch of dried chamomile and mint from the wooden table, playing the part of the modest healer, and made her way down the spiral staircase. The castle was quiet at this hour, but the silence felt deceptive, like the quiet before a branch snaps under heavy snow.
When she stepped into the inner garden, she found King Draven waiting by a stone fountain. He wore a simple tunic, free of armor or weapons. The morning breeze stirred his dark hair, and for a brief second, he looked less like a ruler weighed down by duty and more like a man stealing a moment of rest.
Beside him sat his youngest daughter, little Princess Clara. The girl was playing with small pebbles on the stone walkway, humming a gentle tune.
"Lady Elara," Draven called out, his voice warm as he turned to greet her.
Clara looked up, her round eyes bright with curiosity. "Is she the lady who helped you in the woods, Father?"
Draven knelt beside the child, brushing dust from her small dress. "Yes, little one. She is very skilled with remedies."
He looked up at Ravenna, his eyes softening with gratitude that needed no words. "Clara woke up with a slight cough. I hoped you might have something gentle to soothe her throat."
Ravenna felt a sudden tightness in her throat. Her mother had demanded Draven's blood, insisting that his entire line was wicked. Yet here he was, kneeling in the dirt, tending to a little girl with more patience than any king she had ever heard of.
She walked over and knelt down beside the child. She reached into her pouch, pulling out a small dried leaf.
"Steep this in warm water with a spoon of honey," Ravenna said gently to Clara. "It will ease the sting in your chest by midday."
Clara took the leaf carefully, offering a bright, toothy smile. "Thank you, Lady Elara."
A sudden sound of rustling silk broke the quiet.
Queen Isolde stepped through the arched entryway of the garden, followed closely by Queen Lysandra. Isolde wore an elaborate blue gown, her blonde hair woven with pearls, while Lysandra looked sharp and watchful in dark velvet. Neither woman smiled.
"How touching," Isolde said, her voice smooth and polite, though her eyes remained entirely cold. "The King spends his morning playing nursemaid, while the council awaits his signature on the grain treaties."
Draven stood up slowly, the gentleness disappearing from his posture. He placed a protective hand on Clara's shoulder. "The council can wait until my daughter is cared for, Isolde."
Lysandra's gaze drifted toward Ravenna, sharp and calculating. "You spend a great deal of time near our family, healer. It seems strange for a simple wanderer from the south to gain such favor so quickly."
Ravenna rose to her feet, keeping her head slightly bowed to avoid showing any defiance. "I only offer care where it is needed, Your Grace."
"Indeed," Isolde murmured, stepping closer. Her perfume was sweet, almost sickly so, masking the sharp suspicion underneath. "Valerius is a generous place, but it can be unkind to those who forget their station. Do not let the King's kindness make you bold, little healer. Foreigners who wander too far often lose their way."
Draven stepped firmly between his wives and Ravenna, his broad frame blocking them from stepping any closer to her. "That is enough, both of you. Escort Clara back to her governess. I will be in the council room shortly."
Isolde held her husband's gaze for a tense second before dipping into a slow, elegant curtsy. She took Clara by the hand and turned away. Lysandra lingered a moment longer, her dark eyes narrowing at Ravenna with clear dislike, before following the head queen down the path.
Once they were out of sight, Draven turned back to Ravenna, letting out a weary breath. "You must ignore them. They are looking for troubles where there are none."
"They are not foolish, Draven," Ravenna whispered, looking at the stone path where the little girl had dropped a smooth pebble. "They sense that something is shifting. You cannot protect me from them forever."
"I can," Draven said, taking half a step toward her, his voice low and earnest. "And I will."
Ravenna looked into his steady gray eyes, wanting so badly to believe him. But as a cold gust of wind swept across the garden, touching only her neck, she felt the invisible weight of her mother's presence watching from the trees.
How long could they keep this fragile peace before the truth tore everything apart?