The air inside the East Wing’s master bedroom was heavy, carrying the sharp, metallic chill of the fading autumn night. Dawn had not yet broken over the imperial capital, leaving the sky outside framed in shades of bruised violet and slate gray. Inside, the quiet was absolute, broken only by the faint rustle of heavy silk. Roselyn stood before the full-length gilded mirror, finishing the crisp folds of her elaborate gown. Her hands, resting against the dark fabric, were cold and trembled slightly despite her inner resolve. She drew a steadying breath, watching her own reflection—the high, elegant collar, the meticulously braided hair, and the pale composure of a woman walking directly into an ambush.From behind her, quiet footsteps approached over the thick velvet rug. Kaelus stepped into the frame of the mirror. He reached out, his long, calloused fingers steady as he pinned a silver brooch—carved in the likeness of the Valthorne family crest—just above the thick collar of her dres
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