The sun was beginning to fall behind the frosty hills by the time they returned to Ashenholt duchy.
Marcella sat in the carriage, the scent of frost and firewood clinging to her gown. The visit had gone well. The people had welcomed them. She had smiled at children, laughed with them, held conversations that mattered. She had allowed herself to feel something that resembled... peace.
And now, all of it was about to be undone.
Marcella already knew something had changed the moment they entered Ashenholt's outer court.
The guards were tighter. The heralds were missing. And the waiting party was far too large.
Berith pulled his horse to a halt beside the carriage just as the outer courtyard unfolded around them. He drew his brows on seeing the banners flanked the steps: one crimson and gold, bearing the flaming crown of the Empire of Cardenia; the other, white and sun-threaded with the sigil of the Grand Church.
