The morning sun filtered through the windows of the inn, casting a golden glow over the room where Layla sat, a faint frown on her face as she read the letter delivered to her earlier.
It bore the seal of Lord Bragaton and was written in flowery, formal language, inviting her to a private dinner at his manor that evening. The tone of the letter was uncharacteristically courteous for someone who had so recently tried to capture her.
"Does he think I've forgotten what happened yesterday?" Layla muttered, tapping her fingers against the table. Mary, seated across from her, raised an eyebrow.
"A formal dinner? That doesn't sound like the same Lord Bragaton who sent his guards after us," Mary remarked, suspicion lacing her voice. "What's he playing at?"
"I don't know," Layla replied, folding the letter neatly and setting it aside. "But it's certainly odd."
