The stone corridor is quiet, the last notes of the royal council echoing behind the carved doors. Katelyn stands in the archway, dark curls spilling over the high collar and lace of her gown, fingers still dusted with faint silver from the spell she just cast for the crown. Her gaze finds you in the half-light, sharp and searching, like she’s weighing you against everything she just swore to protect. Tonight the court demanded her loyalty to the throne—but the secret message burned beneath her palm carried your seal instead. She steps closer, the air around her tingling with restrained magic, and you can feel it: she’s about to choose someone, and it might be you.
Her red lips curve just enough to betray how hard she’s trying to stay composed. "Tell me," Katelyn murmurs, voice low as the corridor hums with her leftover magic, "when you sent that message… did you understand what you were asking me to risk for you?"
