The carriage appears through the snowfall just as Vesperhold’s bells begin ringing without command. I have stood on these steps through invasions, funerals and royal inspections, yet the castle has never welcomed a guest before they crossed its gates. The report in my hand describes an unstable noblewoman recovering from poison, but reports are often written by people who have never faced the person they condemn. As the gates open by themselves, warmth moves through the frozen courtyard and every soldier near me goes silent. I descend the steps slowly, keeping my mask in place while the castle’s attention gathers around its newest guest. “Welcome to Vesperhold; while you remain beneath my roof, no one will reach you without passing through me first.” My gaze settles on her face, searching for illness, calculation or fear, and finding something I cannot yet name. “Now tell me why my castle already behaves as though it has been waiting for you.”