Tanya arrived at the palace dressed for victory.
Silk. Gold. Confidence sharpened to a blade.
She expected chaos.
She expected summons.
She expected Raven.
Instead—nothing.
She was kept waiting.
Minutes stretched into hours.
Whispers crawled through the palace like insects, servants averting their eyes. Tanya's jaw tightened with every passing moment. Finally, she rose from her seat and turned on the nearest attendant.
"Inform the King I am here on urgent business," she snapped. "Confidential matters from my father."
The servant bowed and fled.
Still, the King did not come.
Tanya's nails dug into her palms.
He was choosing.
And he was choosing wrong.
At last—near midnight—the doors opened.
Raven entered.
Not hurried.
Not apologetic.
He stopped several paces away, gaze cool and distant, as though she were nothing more than an inconvenience.
"You should return home," he said flatly. "It's late."
Tanya stared.
"That's it?" she demanded. "You made me wait hours—for this?"
"I did not summon you," Raven replied.
Her chest burned with humiliation and fury.
"I cannot leave," she said quickly, regrouping. "The information I carry concerns the stability of your throne. Surely you don't wish to appear dismissive of allies."
Raven studied her.
Then he smiled.
Not kindly.
"Very well," he said. "You may stay the night."
Relief flickered across her face—quickly replaced by calculation.
"But," he continued, "you will be housed in the East Wing. Far from restricted areas."
Tanya stiffened.
"The West Wing—"
"Is not available," Raven cut in smoothly.
She swallowed her protest.
"Of course," she said, forcing a smile.
Inside, she was seething
that while she waited—
Raven was upstairs.
Kallen stood beside him.
The royal physician worked silently.
And Vanella lay pale and broken between silk sheets, while the King of Acosta personally held her hand and planned the complete annihilation of the Tiger Clan.