The morning sun swept through Althea's room with a deceptive golden light, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air as if the palace were a peaceful and beautiful place. Althea was inspecting the thin wound on her neck in front of the mirror, her finger carefully tracing the red line that had begun to dry.
Every touch reminded her of the cold sword and the burning red eyes. A faint smile spread across her lips—the pain was a reminder that she was still alive, still fighting.
"Milady," Morfida whispered from the door, her voice trembling with worry. "The Queen is heading this way."
Althea moved quickly, concealing her scar with a high collar and slightly ruffling her hair. She grabbed her reading textbook and sat down in a chair near the window, assuming the pose of a struggling student, just as her chamber door opened without a knock.
