The court gala had quieted into a ghost of itself, its echoes still haunting the floors by the time I returned to my chambers.
The dress clung to me like armor I couldn't peel off. I stood at the mirror, fingers trembling as I unclasped the last pin from my hair. I had smiled through every insult tonight, every backhanded toast and whispered speculation. They thought they could break me by confirming what I already knew—that I wasn't divine anymore.
But gods didn't need approval to exist. And queens didn't need permission to rule.
A knock came—soft, rhythmic. Familiar.
"Kieran," I called, already sensing his presence.
He entered without waiting. His tunic was undone at the collar, his expression grim.
"We found Marin's accomplice," he said. "A steward named Halrik. He tried to flee the estate under disguise."
I faced him fully. "Did he talk?"
