The Palace of the First Queen stood on the highest ridge of the capital.
It was not the Crown Palace. That was on the hill—the golden spires, the white walls, the seat of the king. The First Queen's palace was separate. Smaller. Older. Built of dark stone and climbing ivy, its towers rounded rather than pointed, its windows arched rather than squared. It had been built three hundred years ago by a queen who valued privacy over display, and every queen since had maintained that tradition.
Raven and Old Tomas stood before the gate.
The morning was gray. Clouds hung low over the capital. The air was cool. Damp. The kind of air that made stone sweat and iron rust. The guards at the gate wore silver armor—different from the Crown's guards, whose armor was white. These were the Queen's Own. Their tabards bore the First Queen's sigil: a silver rose on a field of deep blue.
