Lucian left the room, his mind already racing with plans, while the Empress stood by the fire, watching the last of Madame Lula's letter burn to ash.
The palace was quiet tonight, a stillness that should have been soothing.
Yet Empress Uhleksis found no peace. She paced the length of her bedchamber, her luxurious silk robe swishing against the cold marble floor.
The moonlight filtered in through the sheer curtains, casting long shadows across the room. But the shadows that haunted Uhleksis came from within, dark tendrils of memory that wound tighter around her mind with every passing hour.
It was the letter from the pavilion, that had unsettled her.
"Why is Izan asking about Ireen Montclair?" She wondered for the hundredth time.
She'd masked her unease well in front of her son Lucian, as she always did, but the moment he left, she could no longer keep her thoughts from spiraling.
