Chapter 64

The corridor outside the war room felt too bright.

Beatrice walked slowly, each footstep measured against the polished stone. She kept her expression blank, even as the tension in her shoulders refused to ease. Her words still echoed faintly in her ears, dulled by time but not gone.

Vigilance without provocation.

It had sounded clean. Neutral, even helpful. But she knew the truth better than any of them.

Her family didn't want restraint.

The Da Villes profited from blood, not peace. It was written plainly in the novel. Contracts slipped across borders, forged names on weapons manifests, stolen supply lines.

They sold to both sides. Quietly. Consistently. And when the fighting escalated, they celebrated in private.

Beatrice had read it all. Watched it unfold from a reader's distance.

And now she lived in it.