In the dimly lit corner of the grand dining hall, a woman dressed in black sat in silence. Her posture was relaxed, almost indifferent, as if she had no care in the world. But her ears? They were everywhere.
Her gaze stayed fixed on her untouched plate, but she caught every whispered conversation, every muttered remark from the nobles scattered throughout the room. It was routine—listen, analyze, report. Most of their idle gossip was worthless, but tonight?
This time was different. Her expression darkened, her grip tightening around the silver fork as she heard it.
Pyris. Dracula. Uncle.
Her thoughts came to a screeching halt. 'Her fingers tensed around the glass. How the hell did we not know about this?'
The Silent Army prided itself on knowing everything, yet here she was, listening to nobles—mere gossiping aristocrats—talking about an alliance they hadn't even caught wind of. Had Dracula betrayed them?