Elena’s POVI had spent half the night perfecting a new blend, and I hadn’t even realized it was morning yet.

The faint trace of my perfume still clung to my skin, something wild and bitter that reminded me of rain over fire.

The bell rang for duties, but before I could reach the door, it opened.

A palace steward stood there, a tall man with the stiff posture of someone who rarely bent to speak to maids. “You are Elena?”

I nodded, wary. “Yes, sir.”

“The Council requires ...