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{Outskirts Cottage, Before Sunrise}
The fire had long since burned low, casting soft, flickering shadows across the cottage walls. Millis sat at the wooden table, her fingers curled around a chipped cup of tea gone cold. She hadn't moved in some time. The night was too quiet. Even the wind felt like it was holding its breath.
Laraine's old cloak still hung by the door, untouched since the day she left. Millis sometimes imagined she might return one morning—mud on her boots, a smirk on her face, asking if there was bread left or if Millis had finally learned how to bake properly.
She smiled at the thought, faint and fond.
But her eyes were tired.
Even with distance, Millis had heard whispers. Of movement in the capital. Of rebels rising. Of Laraine's name spoken like a threat and a promise.
And of Vienna.
Millis knew better than to ask what that meant.
She closed her eyes, wrapping both hands around the cup as if it might give her warmth. But the air had turned colder in the last hour. A chill crept in beneath the door, curling around her ankles.
Her gut twisted.
The birds weren't singing.
Something was wrong.
Then—
A sound.
Soft. Almost respectful. A boot against gravel.
Millis froze.
Another sound. A creak on the porch wood.
Her pulse kicked like a drum. Her fingers fumbled for the knife beneath the table—a kitchen blade, useless against soldiers. But it was something. She rose slowly, quiet as a ghost, moving to the window.
Figures in black. At least three. One stood near the trees, watching.
Her breath hitched.
She turned just as the door burst inward.
They didn't speak.
The first man moved fast, grabbing her wrist. She slashed with the knife—missed. Another hand yanked her back by her braid. She kicked, shouted Laraine's name, but they didn't care.
They moved like they'd done this a hundred times.
One pressed a cloth to her face—sharp with something bitter and chemical.
The last thing Millis saw was the cloak still hanging by the door. Laraine's cloak.
Still waiting.
Like her.
Then, black.
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{The Palace Dungeons, Shortly After Sunrise}
Her head throbbed. Every breath burned like cold smoke.
The floor was damp beneath her, the air stank of mildew and rusted iron. Chains rattled somewhere in the dark. Her wrists were bound—not tightly, but enough to remind her she had no control here.
She blinked slowly, trying to remember where she was, how she'd—
The door groaned open.
Light spilled across the stone floor, too sharp, too clean for a place like this. Footsteps followed, steady, deliberate. And then she saw her:
Adana.
Clad in velvet the color of dried blood, with a fur-lined cloak pooling behind her like the shadow of a crown. She moved through the dungeon like she owned it—because she did.
Millis sat up too fast and gasped, the pain lancing through her skull. She braced herself with shaking arms.
Adana paused just beyond the cell door, flanked by two guards.
Her gaze was cool. Curious.
Like she was studying a museum relic—something from a life she thought buried.
"Well," Adana said softly, almost sweetly. "You don't look like much, do you?"
Millis didn't answer. Her tongue felt thick. Her mouth tasted of metal and sleep.
"I remember you being louder," Adana went on, one brow arching delicately. "Wasn't it you who shouted at me in the throne hall? When they dragged Laraine out of the palace?"
Millis swallowed, voice cracked and raw: "You remember that?"
"I remember everything," Adana replied, stepping closer. "Especially the names of those who mattered to her."
That smile. It didn't reach her eyes.
Millis stared at her, heartbeat drumming louder with every second. "Why am I here?"
Adana knelt outside the bars, graceful even in cruelty. "Because you're valuable, Millis. You're a tether. A soft place in her memory." She tilted her head. "And if I threaten to cut that tether, maybe she'll stop reaching for her sword."
Millis's blood ran cold.
"Laraine will come for me," she said. Quiet. Certain.
"I'm counting on it," Adana murmured, almost admiring. "But here's the thing, dear: if she doesn't… you die. If she does… well, that's a different kind of war."
Millis stared back, her fingers curling behind her.
"Is this about vengeance?" she asked. "Or fear?"
Adana's smile faltered—just a flicker. "You think I fear her?"
Millis didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
Adana stood slowly. "Let her come," she said, turning to go. "We'll see if her heart is still soft enough to crack."
As she walked away, the light vanished again. The cell door slammed shut.
Millis was left in darkness.
But she didn't cry.
She pressed her forehead to the cold stone and whispered Laraine's name.
Because she knew:
Laraine would come.
And when she did…
This palace would remember what love and fury combined could do.
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