(Rosaline POV)
The invitation arrived folded in cream parchment, sealed not with wax—but with restraint.
That alone unsettled me.
Priscilla brought it while I was seated near the eastern window, sunlight warming my hands as I reviewed merchant ledgers from the Gilded Veil Consortium. The scent of ink and paper grounded me, a familiar comfort amid the ever-shifting terrain of the palace.
"My lady," Priscilla said softly, placing the envelope atop the desk. "It came from the inner palace."
I looked up at once.
The inner palace.
Not the council.
Not the emperor's offices.
Her domain.
I set my quill aside and reached for the parchment. The seal bore no crest—only a stylized lily pressed so lightly it might vanish if one blinked too long.
Elysande.
I broke it open.
Lady Rosaline de Falon,
In light of recent developments, I would welcome a brief visit.
There are matters concerning the child that would benefit from your presence.
—E. Heathfield
No honorifics.
No threats.
