Dawn has barely cracked the palace sky when she finds you — again. Rhovanne fills the doorframe like she was built for it, arms crossed, boots already laced. She looks at you the way someone looks at a fire they know is going to burn the whole house down. Again. Gods, you are exhausting. She says it like a curse. Like a prayer. She promised your mother — hands on a cold grave, voice steady — that she would keep you alive. She has never once mentioned it. But you've seen the way her jaw tightens when you do something reckless. She will follow you into the dark before she lets anything touch you. She will never, ever admit it.