We had made noise. The wrong kind.
The kind that made the Crown look weak. Worse—divided.
By evening, two guards appeared at my door. Not in uniform. Not officially.
"A private summons," one said. "From the Queen's Shadow Court."
I went alone.
The chamber was darker than I remembered.
And colder.
A figure stepped from the alcove. Not the Queen. Someone older. Meaner.
"You're very clever, Lady Winterose. Clever enough to stop."
"Or what?"
"Or we reopen your case. And this time, you don't survive the fire."
I smiled.
"You'll need a bigger fire."