Royal Palace — Morning, East Courtyard
The sun had barely risen when the gates of the royal palace creaked open to allow a single carriage through. It bore no royal emblem, no golden trim—just a quiet, modest coach drawn by two chestnut horses. A hush fell over the servants gathered to see it off.
Dorothy stepped out in a cloak of deep blue, her head lowered beneath a simple veil. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but she held her chin high. Her son, barely a year old, was cradled in her arms. Behind her, her nanny and a single maid followed in silence.
A small chest containing her belongings had already been loaded into the coach. No ceremony. No farewell gifts. Just a quiet dismissal.
At the same moment, the western gates opened for another purpose.
