A young lady arrived at the palace at dawn.
The guards at the palace gates had never seen anything like her. Young—maybe nineteen, or twenty; with dirt on her face and fire in her eyes. Her clothes were rags. Her hands were scarred. She carried no weapon, no bag, no letter of introduction.
Only herself.
"I want to see the queen," she said.
The guards exchanged glances. "The queen is not accepting visitors without an appointment."
"Then make an appointment. I'll wait."
She waited. Three hours. Standing at the gates, not moving, not eating, not drinking. Servants whispered. Guards shifted uncomfortably. Finally, someone sent word to Lysa.
And Lysa told Seren.
Seren found her in the courtyard.
The woman was small, thin, with hollow cheeks and dark hair that hadn't been washed in weeks. But her eyes, they burned.
"I'm Seren," the queen said. "You wanted to see me?"
The woman dropped to her knees. Not in courtesy. In desperation.
