Three days remained until the king's birthday.
The palace shimmered with ceremony. Floral arrangements towering in crystal vases, gilded tapestries being inspected and re-hung by nervous attendants, and guest lists revised for the fifth time in as many days. Every corner of the court buzzed with nerves and silk.
Beatrice felt the pressure like a storm front pressing in against her ribs. She moved through it in silence, eyes sharp, steps sharper. At breakfast, she said nothing. At council, she observed. At dinner, she left early.
The letter from her father remained burned in her memory.
We expect you to perform adequately during the celebration. Do not embarrass the family. Do not draw suspicion. Everything has been arranged.
Not a word about safety. Not a hint of warning.
Everything has been arranged.
