That evening, the palace was already cloaked in the night shadows when Queen Aurelia slipped from the chamber, veiled in a heavy cloak and hood.
The servants had long since been dismissed. She trusted no one with this errand—not after what she had heard.
Her steps were swift, calculated, echoing off the marble corridor with the poise of a woman who ruled, and a fury simmering just beneath.
The courtyard was empty, as arranged. Beyond the hedged path and through the ivy-covered gate, the rear stables stood abandoned at this hour, used only for ceremonial horses and rarely visited now.
It was where she'd summoned him—far from prying eyes and curious ears.
The hidden door in the stable wall groaned slightly as it gave way, and Aurelia stepped into the dusky warmth within.
The air smelled of dust, old hay, and oiled leather. She barely had time to pull down her hood before a voice spoke.
"You look like a woman ready to burn down a kingdom," Lord Ronan drawled from the shadows.
