Some evenings, I imagine what my life might have been if I'd stayed in the shadows unseen, unneeded, unafraid of anyone else's expectations. I might have become a legend of mischief, a cautionary tale whispered in torchlit corridors: Beware the Nightthorn girl and her impossible spells. Instead, I'm here, tangled up in a palace full of sticky-fingered twins, conspiracy pastries, and a princess who keeps rewriting her fate with nothing but stubborn hope.
And, gods help me, I wouldn't trade it for anything.
The sun was down, but the palace pulsed with that anxious energy that always comes before the next storm. From my perch on the east balcony, I watched torches flicker in the courtyards. Night air cooled my skin. The city hummed with the knowledge that something was changing whether it wanted it or not.
