The storm outside had been building for hours.
Thunder rolled across the city in long, rumbling waves, shaking the ancient stones of Veredon Palace.
Selene stood at the tall windows of her chambers, watching the black clouds claw their way across the sky.
It felt fitting.
As if the heavens themselves were preparing for the war she was about to unleash.
On the table behind her lay a letter.
Its seal unbroken.
Its weight heavier than gold.
An invitation.
A warning.
An opportunity.
She had received it that morning, slipped beneath her door without a trace of who had delivered it.
The handwriting was unfamiliar.
The message short.
"If you wish to survive, you must not wait. You must move first. Tonight. The Tower of Ravens. Midnight."
No signature.
No promises.
Only the cold, hard truth.
Selene knew it could be a trap.
A lure to draw her out alone.
A ploy by her enemies to end her quietly where no crown could save her.
But she also knew another truth, deeper and sharper.
Standing still was death too.
Waiting for Cassian to protect her, waiting for the court to devour itself, waiting for miracles was a fool's game.
If she wanted to survive this palace, she needed to make her first move.
Her move.
Her choice.
Her war.
The clock above the hearth chimed eleven.
Selene turned from the window and crossed the room in three long strides.
She slipped out of her formal gown and into a simpler dress of black wool, fitting close to her body and easy to move in.
At her thigh, she strapped a slender dagger.
Inside her sleeve, a second blade.
Beneath her cloak, a small vial of clear poison tucked safely against her ribs.
Prepared.
Sharp.
Ready.
She left her chambers through the servant's passage, moving soundlessly through the palace's forgotten veins.
The guards at the main doors would not question her absence.
Not yet.
The Tower of Ravens stood on the far edge of the palace grounds, near the old walls that had not been touched by war or time.
Once, it had housed the palace's scribes and historians.
Now, it stood empty.
Abandoned.
Or so the court believed.
Selene reached the outer halls without encountering anyone.
The rain had begun to fall in earnest, the stone courtyards slick and shining under the torchlight.
She pulled her hood low over her face and slipped into the shadows.
The tower loomed ahead, its black stone twisted against the night sky like a crooked finger pointing to the heavens.
One heavy wooden door barred the entrance.
It was already ajar.
Selene paused.
Listening.
Waiting.
Nothing but the whisper of rain and the low rumble of distant thunder.
She pushed the door open wider and slipped inside.
The interior smelled of damp stone and old secrets.
A single torch flickered near the far wall, casting long, restless shadows.
And in the center of the room, waiting beside a crumbling table, stood a man.
Tall.
Hooded.
Still.
Selene did not reach for her dagger.
Not yet.
She kept her hands loose at her sides, her posture relaxed but ready.
The man inclined his head slightly.
"You came," he said.
His voice was low, roughened by age or disuse.
Selene said nothing.
She studied him carefully, noting the slight limp, the calluses on his fingers, the faint gleam of steel beneath his cloak.
A soldier once.
Or still.
Not a courtier.
Not a merchant.
Someone who knew the weight of blood and silence.
"You have little time," the man said. "The court moves against you faster than you realize."
Selene raised one eyebrow, cool and skeptical.
"And why would you help me?" she asked.
The man's mouth twisted in something that was not quite a smile.
"Because you are not the only one they seek to destroy," he said. "And because a dying kingdom needs a queen who is willing to kill her enemies before they kill her."
Selene stepped closer, the torchlight catching in her eyes.
"And what do you want in return?"
The man shrugged.
"When the time comes, remember who gave you the knife."
He reached into his cloak and produced a small scroll, sealed with wax bearing no crest.
He placed it on the table between them.
Information.
Leverage.
A weapon.
Selene stared at it for a long moment.
Then she picked it up.
The man bowed slightly.
"Choose your allies carefully, Your Majesty," he said. "The court is not loyal to crowns. Only to survival."
Then he turned and disappeared into the darkness beyond the torchlight.
Gone.
As if he had never been there at all.
Selene stood alone in the empty tower, the scroll burning cold in her hand.
She had her first weapon now.
Her first move.
She tucked the scroll into the folds of her cloak and slipped back into the storm.
The rain washed the blood and filth from the palace stones, but it could not cleanse what was coming.
Nothing could.
The wolves had shown their teeth.
Now it was her turn.
To strike first.
To strike deep.
And to strike without mercy.