Aveline stirred in her sleep.
The dull ache in her abdomen returned, slow but insistent, like something knocking from within. She frowned, shifting under the covers. She should take the medicine before it worsened…
Somewhere between sleep and waking… a sharp burst cracked through the night.
Her eyes fluttered open.
Fireworks.
Another one bloomed, light spilling through the window in fleeting colors. Wyla, who had been resting lightly nearby, stirred at the movement. "Milady?" she called softly.
But Aveline was already out of bed. Drawn toward the fireworks. She walked to the window and pushed it open slightly.
The night sky shimmered.
Gold scattered first—then crimson, then a cascade of blues that fell like stardust. One burst lingered longer than the rest, unfolding into delicate, glowing strands that looked almost like steps reaching into the sky.
Aveline's eyes widened.
"Is there a festival at the capital?" she asked, her voice softer than usual.
