The castle had not changed.
The moment Veylira stepped through the gate, she was assaulted by the scent of old stone and faint lilac oil a signature Lucindra had always insisted upon, claiming it disguised the scent of blood in the corridors.
But blood was still here. It clung to the walls like memories. It breathed through the arches, thick and unseen, just like the betrayal still nestled in Veylira's chest.
Ten years.
Ten years since Lucindra walked out of this castle with half the treasury and not a single backward glance.
Ten years since Veylira had stood in this same courtyard, surrounded by confused guards and crying daughters, and realized she would have to raise them alone.
And now the prodigal queen wanted her throne back.
Veylira smiled to herself, letting her heels click deliberately against the blackened marble. Each step echoed with intention.
