I rush down the stairs in a flurry of skirts, the sweat on my skin quickly turning into ice. In the reflection of the gold enameled banister, I can see my mouth set in a straight line that I work to curve into a polite smile.
I can hear Marie's heavy breathing behind me and a bead of sweat snakes down the maid's neck into the collar of her dress. Hearing the emperor's decree in other eras may have once been a good thing, but with my father on the throne, such expectations have naturally faded away. It has gone to the point that if the person in question who receives my father's decree is condemned alone without their entire family taken away for interrogation and torture, they praise the emperor for his benevolence.
In the sitting room that the entrance to the Rose Palace opens up to, my father's loyal man, Harold, stands with a scroll in his hand. Upon seeing my presence, he wastes no time in unrolling it reading.
