Wordlessly, Isabelle pushed forward, her steps firm as she brushed past Lastor, who had flattened himself against the wall to make space in the narrow hallway. It was far too tight for two people to walk side by side. Once she disappeared around the corner, Lastor let out a soft sigh of relief.
No matter how many noblewomen he saw draped in silks and jewels, something about their elegance always made him uneasy, especially after his time among witches. They had adored dressing to the nines, and to him, that memory was less admiration and more lingering nightmare.
"You're here, Lastor," Arabella greeted warmly as he entered, her smile bright.
"Your Highness," he replied, quickly striding toward the table. "I believe you were right. A witch is helping both Morpheus and Queen Morgana. If I had to guess, I'd say it's all part of Morpheus's grand plan to take full control of the kingdom."
Arabella's expression sharpened. "Do you have a name?"
