Darkness was the first thing she knew.
Not the darkness of night, but the suffocating darkness of a coarse cloth tied tightly across her eyes. It scratched against her skin every time she moved, and the knot at the back of her head dug painfully into her hair. Her wrists ached where rough rope had bitten into them during the journey, and every muscle in her body protested as she slowly regained consciousness.
A dull throb pulsed through her temples.
She inhaled sharply, the air carrying the scent of old stone, dust, and weathered timber. Somewhere nearby, the wind whistled through a narrow opening with a long, mournful cry, followed by the rhythmic tapping of rain against stone.
She wasn't in the palace.
