The summons came at midmorning, folded into a note so brief it might have been nothing: *Her Grace requests Lady Elara's company for tea. The solar adjoining the queen's apartments. The second bell.*
No silver tray. No elaboration. The paper itself was the message — unadorned, unstamped, the kind of note passed between women who understand each other's time is not to be wasted on ceremony.
Mira read it over her shoulder without being invited to and said nothing, which was a kind of answer.
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