The Dragon Prince did not sleep well that night.
Vanda Sanchez sat at the window of his guest chamber, staring at the pale moon that hung over Arven. The kingdom slept, but his thoughts would not.
Why had he interfered?
Why had he spoken against Rosa, not once but twice?
It was unlike him. He was not a man moved by weakness, nor by tears. He had seen stronger warriors than Daya broken on the battlefield and had never flinched. Yet her trembling eyes had burned into him, haunting him long after the night had ended.
"This is foolishness," he muttered, running a hand through his dark hair. "She is nothing but a servant."
And yet… his chest tightened as though he were lying to himself.
Far below, in the servants' quarters, Daya whispered prayers over her sleeping mother. But her hands shook as she tucked the blanket tighter. She did not know if she should be grateful or terrified that the Dragon Prince had defended her again. For the Princess's wrath was not so easily quenched.
And Rosa was already planning her next move.