Juliet Aldos sat before her dressing table, her reflection staring back at her with an unsettling stillness. For a long moment, she did not move, her chambers were quiet, except for the faint crackle of a dying fire and the distant murmur of palace life beyond thick stone walls. It was a peaceful sound, almost ordinary.
Deceptively so.
Her fingers hovered over the silver dagger resting atop the polished wooden surface, its blade catching the faint morning light. It gleamed with a cold and knowing sharpness, as though it too understood the weight of what was to come.
Slowly and deliberately, Juliet picked it up, the metal was cool against her skin, and in a twisted way, this was comforting to her.
She studied her reflection as she held it, tilting her head slightly. The woman staring back at her was regal, composed and in every inch a queen. There was no madness in her eyes, nor was there any visible trace of the storm raging beneath her calm exterior.
