The high doors of Berkimhum Palace groaned closed behind her.
Lara Von Roxweld didn't flinch at the sound, but her breath hitched slightly — just enough to crack the stillness. It was the sound of containment, of luxury forged into a cage. The sound of power she had never wanted.
She stood at the threshold of rule, her boots still damp with blood, her chest still heaving with the rhythm of the field. And yet everything here reeked of perfume and old politics. The air felt thinner in the halls of inheritance. Like the palace itself sucked the urgency from her lungs.
To the people outside, she was a war hero. The Crimson Fang reborn. But inside these walls, Lara could feel it — the change. The narrowing of gazes. The way her father hadn't smiled. The way Claire's voice had cooled the second nobles came within earshot.
This was no welcome.
It was a warning.
"You made too much noise,"the palace seemed to whisper. "And now, they remember you."
She clenched her jaw.
