The palace felt colder the next morning. Not because of the weather, but because of the silence — the kind that follows after something breaks but no one dares admit it.

Breakfast was served in the east hall, a place that smelled faintly of polished silver and dread. I sat at the long table, hands folded in my lap, eyes fixed on the empty plate before me. Father sat across from me, reading the day’s paper as though the world were perfectly ordinary. Damon stood by the door, silent and ...