The call came after midnight.

It wasn't delivered by a servant.

It wasn't written down.

It arrived as a certainty.

Callie felt it seep into her bones as she lay awake on the narrow bed in the servants' wing, staring at the ceiling as the shadows shifted with the slow passage of the moon. Her body had been restless for hours: skin too sensitive, breathing too shallow, thoughts returning to Darian with humiliating inevitability.

When the door opened, she didn't flinch.

She rose silently, already gathering her cloak, already stepping into the corridor before the guard could speak. That was the first test, though she would only realize it later.

No hesitation.

No resistance.

The walk to the King's private apartments felt longer than usual, each step echoing in her chest. The palace at night was a different beast: silent yet vigilant, its halls breathed history and judgment. Torches burned dimly, casting distorted shadows that clung to the walls like accusations. She stopped in fr