The setting sun reflected off the freshly fallen snow. It gave the entirety of the Palace grounds, from the gardens to the trees, fountains, and even buildings, a faint orange glow. It was amazing how, in the space of just a couple days, the weather could go from rain to snow. It should have been beautiful, but Quilla couldn’t think of it in those terms. Beauty didn’t exist right now. It couldn’t. Especially in the sunsets she used to love watching with Garet.


    That little while had gone on longer than she’d intended, though.


    “Understandably so, my Lady, with Prince Garet’s death and all.”


    Marna placed a pitcher on a tray, but paused when she reached for the goblets. “Two, my Lady?”


    Marna smiled back. “We’re not supposed to drink this wine. It’s too high quality for us. There’s lower quality, watered-down wine for the servants in the kitchen.”


    “I won’t tell anyone,” Quilla said.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Quilla sipped at her wine. “It’s weird. I feel caught between two worlds. The nobles don’t like me because I’m not really one of them, and the servants don’t like me because they think I’ve betrayed them somehow. Maybe I have. It didn’t bother me as much before because I had Garet. I suppose, over time, it would have started to bother me more, but now he’s gone, it definitely does.”


    Have you reached a decision yet?


    Quilla stomped back over to the chaise longue, grabbed her wine, and brought it to her lips. She paused. Then, with a scream, she threw it at the wall. “Fucking bastard!” The goblet shattered and wine splashed out, leaving a dripping red mark on the wall and a puddle of red on the floor.


    She stood there, breathing heavily for some time—she wasn’t sure how long. Her heart beat loudly. Eventually, the doors opened again.


    Hello Quilla. It’s been a long time.


    She closed her eyes and tried to think back to two nights ago. She remembered the wine. She remembered visiting Sinit?a. She remembered Ardon. And she remembered those words.


    Hello Quilla. It’s been a long time.


    Then there were just images. His scar. Had he been rubbing it? Yes, he’d rubbed it numerous times. Or was she just creating that image now to satisfy her desire to remember?


    Don’t you dare!


    He had taken it. He must have.


    When you make up your mind, come find me at…