The night crawled on, thick and freezing, until the grand palace clock struck the dead of night.
In the western wing, sharp, violent raps at the door shattered the suffocating silence of Rosatin's pavilion.The sound was intentional—not the polite knock of a courtier, but the aggressive demand of a sovereign.
The terrified servants hurriedly threw the heavy doors open, and Evangeline swept inside like a dark, unyielding storm. Her red gown trailed behind her, capturing the dim candlelight of the lavishly decorated room.
There, sitting gracefully in the center of the room on a gilded chaise, was Rosateen. She was in full adornment, completely unbothered by the lateness of the hour, draped in a luxurious nightgown of fluid, expensive silk. Her soft golden hair cascaded flawlessly over her shoulders, catching the warm light. She leveled a look of absolute, high-born condescension at Eva as she entered.
