The sun had barely lifted above the palace walls when Beatrice found herself in the small drawing room off the east corridor, a room most of the court forgot existed. It was warm, quiet, and smelled faintly of orange blossoms and old books.
She hadn't slept. Not really. Her mind had spiraled all night, replaying every word Magnus had said, every expression Francois had worn. The knowledge she now carried pressed heavy against her ribs. And yet, she knew better than to show it.
Her hands were steady. Her hair was braided neatly. Her tea sat untouched.
So when Johanna entered the room, softly and unannounced, Beatrice didn't flinch.
"I thought I might find you here," Johanna said gently, stepping into the light.
Beatrice didn't rise. "You always did have a knack for knowing where I'd hide."
Johanna gave a small, half-smile. "You're not hiding."
She shifted on her seat.
"Are you?"
Beatrice glanced toward the window, where sunlight stretched across the floor like a trap.
