Magnolia didn't sleep.
Not that night. Not the next.
She sat at the edge of her cot, boots still on, cloak bunched beneath her like a forgotten oath. The fire in her hearth had died hours ago, but she didn't move to rekindle it.
Camille's voice still rang in her ears.
"Choose."
But there had never been a choice.
Not between them.
Not really.
She had chosen both and neither, a coward dressed as a protector.
Now Camille was bleeding, and Rhett's silence sat like a stone in her gut.
She rose before dawn.
The sky outside her chamber window was the color of bruised lavender, heavy clouds pressing down like judgment. She didn't bother washing. Didn't tie her hair.
She walked barefoot across the stone.
The hall was empty blessedly so.
No witnesses.
She passed the high chamber, the bond archive, the war room. Each step cracked louder than it should have. Her breath tasted like rust and regret.
At the end of the corridor was Camille's door.
She knocked once.
Waited.
