"Well…"
Bridget started, adjusting her glasses with a practiced, careful motion. Her voice, though calm, carried the weight of what none of them truly wanted to say out loud.
After the announcement, the princesses had gathered in the royal library—a sun-dappled room filled with the scent of old parchment, blooming violets from the windowsill, and tension so thick it clung to their skin.
Delilah had left shortly after they arrived, murmuring something about needing to speak with Lucius. Her face had been unreadable, but the stiffness in her shoulders betrayed her unease. It was clear—neither she nor Lucius had known about the king's sudden declaration.
Scarlett, seated near the window with sunlight catching in her copper strands, remained silent, arms folded as her amber eyes flitted across the others.
