The Duchess Awaits
Alone in the courtyard, Nova faced the open sky above Blackthorn's stone walls. Cold seeped through her boots, though she didn't notice. Upward her gaze stayed fixed, steady as a blade's edge. Wind moved then, lifting strands of her tightly bound black hair - each one glinting faintly, shifting like fabric stitched to something greater than herself.
A whisper of wind stilled as she moved forward. Along the walls stood soldiers, stiff like figures cut from rock, shoulders locked, gazes pinned to her form. Her first step beyond the house brought silence crashing down - boots halted, fingers twitching toward sword grips without thought. Men pacing nearby snapped around, turning not with effort but motion learned by bone, their alertness cutting through dawn's quiet like a blade.
