The Tower was colder than the rest of the palace.
Seraine felt it in her bones the moment the iron-laced doors slammed shut behind her. She had just been scrubbed, perfumed, robed in white silk so thin it was practically an insult. Her hair—Elira's hair—was brushed until it shone like polished obsidian.
But inside, she still felt like ash.
The hallway twisted upward in a spiral. Narrow steps lit by floating lamps cast long, hungry shadows. The silence here was different from the rest of the palace. Not submissive. Not ritualistic. It was the silence of ghosts.
"This way," said the older maid, the one who'd touched her shoulder. Her name had not been given.
Seraine followed, her feet bare again.
When they reached the third level, the maid stopped. A heavy wooden door stood in front of them, carved with the crest of the crown—a serpent devouring its own tail.
"This was hers," the maid said.
"Whose?"
"Elira Valein's."
Seraine's blood ran cold.
The girl whose life I now wear.
She stepped into the room slowly.
It was simple. A bed of carved bonewood. A mirror too tall and too wide. White lilies in a vase that had begun to rot. The scent was thick and sweet, like dying sugar.
On the table sat a single object.
A letter.
Seraine approached, pulse quickening. The seal was broken. The paper smelled faintly of dried tears and crushed lavender.
She unfolded it.
> To the one who wakes in my place…
I hope you remember your name before they strip it from you.
This palace does not take wives. It takes stories.
Tell yours before they write you into silence.
And if you see him…
Don't look away.
He only spares the ones who don't flinch.
Seraine stared.
The candle beside the letter flickered violently.
She didn't know what scared her more: that Elira had written this before her death, or that somehow, she'd known someone else would be waking in her skin.
"Supper will be brought," the maid said from the doorway. Her tone was blank. But her eyes lingered too long.
Too knowing.
Seraine nodded, folding the letter, slipping it into her sleeve.
When the door shut behind her again, she was alone.
But the walls felt like they were watching.
And outside, somewhere in the darkness of the palace, a bell tolled — once, sharp and low — as if something old had just awakened.