Back in the main wing of the palace, Lucien was busy reviewing updates from the border posts. The attacks had temporarily stopped—but no one was foolish enough to think the danger had passed.
Isadora entered quietly, carrying a rolled scroll in one hand.
"They've delivered another list of wounded," she said. "Three more didn't make it overnight."
Lucien didn't respond immediately. He looked at her, then at the list. His fingers curled slightly.
"We need more healers," he said. "We're burning through herbs faster than we can import."
"I've already sent riders to the southern market towns," she replied. "But it'll take time."
Lucien stood and walked over to the window. "Celeste isn't recovering as fast as she should. She's too stubborn to rest, and I can't force her."
"She'll listen to me," Isadora said gently. "I'll handle it."
He gave her a tired smile. "You've been handling too much already."
She crossed her arms. "I'm not going anywhere."
