Rhea felt eyes on her as she walked past.

One young servant dropped a tray at the sight of her, porcelain shattering against stone, and whispered a prayer under her breath as if to ward off a curse.

Rhea froze, and though no one said her name aloud, she knew exactly who they meant. Her. Always her.

She hadn't told anyone about the dream... not truly. Not the twin, not the chains, not the way Lucien's eyes had given him away.

And yet, somehow, she felt as though ...