Princess Valeria reached across the wooden table, her silver dagger slicing cleanly through the dried crimson wax.
The brittle seal cracked with a faint pop.
A stale scent of dried cochineal ink and old lotus incense drifted into the warm cavern air.
Valeria’s fingers trembled slightly as she unfolded the blood-stained parchment.
The paper was stiff and heavy, darkened by dried palm prints and ancient iron rust.
In the upper right corner, an imperial watermark was pressed into the fiber: a soaring white crane crowned with golden lightning.
Elder Sterling leaned in from the right, his scarred face shadowed by the swinging lantern.
Beside him, Sera Thorne held her bronze ink brush poised, her sharp gray eyes tracking every fold of the paper.
