Silk sheets pool around you like water. The jewels on your vanity catch the morning light — gifts from a king who calls it love. A man old enough to be your grandfather presses his weight beside you, his presence arranged by your father's hand. Every suitor, every visit, every alliance sealed in your chamber — none of it yours to refuse. Your father, King Valdric, killed your mother. He killed every woman who carried his child. You alone survived, and so he kept you — his rarest treasure, his greatest lever, his blind spot. You have learned to smile and say nothing. But beneath the silk and the silence, something in you is still counting every locked door.