She knew the real trial was only just beginning.
But for the first time, she was not walking into it as a bride trying to survive.
She was walking in as a woman who had learned how to be seen.
Twenty Eight
Before Midnight
The palace fell into impossible calm.
Sabine sat in the guarded suite while servants carried warm water in silver basins and laid white garments across the bed with the care reserved for sacred objects or burial cloth.
Outside, the court celebrated Lucien’s choice.
Inside, the temple prepared Sabine for a chamber that had killed the last woman who entered it.
Lysa dismissed the first two temple attendants who tried to enter with consecrated oils and incense.
“Nothing touches her unless I have inspected it,” she said flatly.
The senior attendant stiffened. “The ritual bath requires temple preparation.”
“The ritual bride was nearly poisoned with temple cordial. She bathes under crown protection.”
The attendant left furious.
Lysa locked the door behind her.
Sabine sat very still in the chair by the fire.
“How long until midnight?”
“Two hours.”
Two hours to bathe, dress, walk three corridors, descend two staircases, and enter the sealed chamber beneath the old royal chapel.
Two hours before the Tenth Vow began.
Sabine looked at her hands.
The mark had spread past her shoulder now, dark lines branching across her collarbone like roots seeking water.
The bond felt steady.
Not calm.
Listening.
A knock sounded.
Lysa opened the door to palace servants carrying the bath.
They poured steaming water into the porcelain tub, added dried white flowers that smelled faintly bitter, and left quickly without meeting Sabine’s eyes.
As if looking at her directly might make them complicit in whatever was about to happen.
Lysa tested the water with one hand, then checked the flowers.
