My lady, you look exhausted. Should I prepare a bath?"
"No, it's fine," Isadora sighed, waving her off. "I just need sleep."
The prince's visit had drained every last bit of patience she had. The fake smiles, the polite conversation, the careful looks from everyone in the room — it was exhausting. She'd done her part, but it left her feeling more like a pawn than a person.
Skipping dinner, she made her way upstairs to her chambers. The silk gown felt heavy as she pulled it off and changed into a simple linen shift. As she moved toward the bed.
She wanted to go to Diagon Hall, check in on Lucien like she said she would, but her body was too heavy, her mind foggy. She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment — and then sleep took her.
In the dream, the air was cold and thick with mist.
A figure appeared through the fog — the woman from the antique shop. Hooded, her face hidden, but her voice was clear.
"It's time," she whispered.
Isadora's stomach tightened. "Time for what?"
