There exists a peculiar sort of terror that comes from recognizing a predator that no one else can see—like spotting a wolf in sheep's clothing while surrounded by oblivious shepherds. It's the sort of knowledge that sits heavy in the pit of one's stomach, a leaden weight of responsibility and dread that grows heavier with each passing moment.
"Hello," Alyssara greeted, her voice like silk threaded with honey. Her smile was warm, inviting—utterly disarming. "May I have the honor of knowing the names of you ladies?"
The four girls blinked, momentarily thrown off by the calmness of her words. They exchanged brief glances before responding.
"I am Rachel Creighton, princess of the North and daughter of the Creighton family," Rachel introduced herself, her voice steady and composed, as though etched in ice.
"I am Cecilia Slatemark, princess of the Slatemark Empire," Cecilia said sharply, her crimson eyes shimmering with barely contained fire.
