The west wing corridor of the palace was so quiet it felt like the marble walls themselves were swallowing every trace of noise. At the dim end of the hallway, Greta stood frozen, her forehead resting lightly against the cold glass of a window, an empty attempt to cool the storm raging in her head. She pulled back almost immediately, spine snapping straight again.
Below, the palace gardens stretched wide. Thousands of scarlet roses bloomed in perfect symmetry, a blood-red sea arranged with obsessive precision. Beautiful, yes, but to Greta, the sight was nauseating.
A sick joke.
She knew Dietrich had lost his mind, but even madness didn't excuse giving Matthias an order that reckless. Everyone knew General Kaelen was too insane to be subdued. Veperia Valley had already become a mass grave for soldiers foolishly thrown at him, and now Dietrich wasn't just trying to humiliate Matthias, he was openly setting the Duke up to die in disgrace.
