It was late. The kind of late where the castle held its breath, where even the servants had retreated to their quarters, leaving the halls to the dust motes and the silence.

Princess Y/n stood at the window of her tower chamber, her reflection a ghost against the black glass. Beyond it, the kingdom slumbered under a crescent moon—a sea of rooftops and darkened fields, all of it hers to inherit, all of it waiting.

She did not turn.