Dinner had been quiet.
The maids now cleared the last of the dishes before bowing and slipping away.
Daphne sat by the window, her hand resting over her stomach as she watched the moon climb through the clouds.
Her thoughts were far from the soft light of the room.
When Alaric finally dismissed the guards and turned back to her, she spoke.
"How bad is it?" she asked.
He hesitated before answering, "Four cities gone to chaos, and if we don't act quickly, it'll spread."
Her fingers tightened over her gown. "And the cause?"
"Varennes," he said flatly. "We've known they were starving their people for months, maybe longer. We suspected they'd strike soon, but I never thought they'd use this. A sickness to bleed us from the inside."
He moved closer. "They want us weak before they march."
Daphne's breath caught. "So it's war."
"It's always been war," he said quietly. "We've just been pretending peace."
