The capital was nothing like the Sliverclaw Castle or Lancaster's small fortress.
Even through the carriage window, which was fogged by her breath and blurred the edges of gilded towers and slow-turning river wheels, Lilliana could feel it: a weightless hunger humming in the stones. Everything here was too much and somehow still not enough. Too many lamps burning at once, too many banners fluttering even though the wind hadn't stirred in hours. Perfume hung in the air like a second atmosphere. Magic buzzed in corners no one acknowledged aloud.
She stepped out of the carriage with the same expression she had practiced in the old servants' hall mirror: wide-eyed, cautious, and just shy of lovely. The girl with good posture and a softer voice. The one who didn't argue when given orders. The one people forgot until they needed someone to pour tea or nod agreeably at the edge of a room.
The one Aylin used to trust.
And Silas used to ignore.
