The palace was still half-asleep when Isolde finished sealing the last document.
Dawn had not yet broken, but the pale pre-light seeped through the narrow windows of her private study, painting the shelves in muted gray. The ledger before her lay open, its pages marked with neat ribbons—supplies, patrol rotations, escort limits, legal authorizations granted by the Empress for the duration of the two-week test.
Everything that could be prepared had been prepared.
Marcus stood near the map table, sleeves rolled back, studying the eastern roads with the same focus he once reserved for battle formations. He did not touch the map—he no longer held command—but his gaze traced routes instinctively.
"Eastridge Hold is the correct choice," he said quietly. "If there's trouble, it will surface there first."
Isolde nodded. "Trade passes through the ridge. If unrest exists, it will follow money and movement."
Marcus glanced at her. "You intend to observe, not provoke."
