By afternoon, River was ready — or as ready as she could be. She chose a soft emerald gown that complemented the gentle curve of her growing belly. Her pregnancy had just begun to show, and though her midsection remained small, there was a glow about her — one that neither court gossip nor disapproval could tarnish.
As she approached the east garden, she braced herself for the queen’s infamous “tea court” — the gathering of noblewomen where whispers were sharper than knives and smiles sweeter than poison. She expected a ring of elegant courtiers, fans fluttering and laughter hiding judgment.
But when she stepped under the ivy-draped archway, the garden was silent. Only one table sat among the roses and white marble statues — and at it, Queen Lana waited alone.
No entourage. No courtiers
