Arabella had just received the news of Raven's death— brief, sparse, yet telling in its omissions. It came through Renard, wrapped in the kind of tight lipped delivery that always hinted at something darker beneath. But she was no fool. The Queen had killed him.
Not directly perhaps, but Raven had uncovered something. Something Morgana wanted buried.
And for that, he'd been silenced.
But what had he found?
Arabella's thoughts spun in circles, always returning to one word: witch. Whatever Raven discovered— it wasn't about the throne, or the hunt, or even Cassius.
It was about her.
Before her mind could spiral further, a knock sounded at the door. Light. Controlled.
Expecting Renard and Lastor returning with herbs, Arabella stood and opened it without hesitation.
But what greeted her wasn't Renard's rumpled uniform or Lastor's lazy smirk.
It was blue.
A gown the color of clear skies. Pristine, almost glowing in the gloom of the murky corridor.
