Morning came too early.
Sunlight slipped into her chamber in careful ribbons as the heavy curtains were drawn back, pale gold spreading across silk and stone, brushing against the edge of her bed as if testing whether she was awake.
Metheea was already sitting up.
She had not slept deeply. Not truly. Her thoughts had moved in slow circles all night, never settling, never finding rest.
Kalistra stood at the windows, tying the curtain cords with practiced precision. Resme was near the dressing table, already reviewing a slim ledger. Fiona hovered closer to the foot of the bed, quiet, attentive, hands folded neatly before her.
The room smelled faintly of herbs and clean linen.
A normal morning.
As if nothing had changed.
Metheea rose without prompting and crossed to the chaise near the window. She sat with straight posture, smoothing the fabric of her night robe as Fiona approached with a porcelain cup.
"Warm tea, Your Highness," Fiona said softly.
