The afternoon sun lay softly upon the gardens of Regina Palace, though Elara Romano scarcely noticed its warmth. She stood beside the old stone balustrade overlooking the rose paths, one hand resting lightly against the carved railing while voices drifted towards her from the palace courtyard, carrying fragments of conversation that ceased whenever she turned her head. She had learned long ago that silence could be more revealing than gossip, and today the palace seemed full of it.
Freya Blackwood approached along the gravel path, her dark coat moving with each measured step, her gaze fixed upon Elara rather than the servants and guards who watched from a cautious distance. She stopped beside her and folded her arms, studying the Queen's composed expression with the familiarity of someone who knew how much strength could be hidden behind stillness.
