It was early morning in the castle, the hour when bells had just finished calling the household awake and the corridors still smelled of cold stone and ash from the night fires. Rosamund began her duties as she always did, carrying fresh linens and a basin of water up the narrow stair to the prince’s chambers. The guards barely glanced at her as she passed them.

She entered quietly, setting her things down and moving toward the shutters to let in the pale light, her expression composed.

“Good morning, your grace,” she said softly, not turning at first as she began her work.