Aurelia barely slept.
The night had been long and cruel — a restless haze of candlelight and echoing memories. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the forest again — the wolves' snarls, the glint of steel, Malion's hand catching hers before everything went the way it did.
Pure betrayal.
Now, dawn leaked pale and cold through the high windows of her new chamber. The silk sheets felt too heavy, the air too still. She sat upright on the edge of the bed, staring at the carved gold frame of the mirror across from her. A stranger looked back — pale, hollow-eyed, the faint streak of dried blood still marking her wrist.
The door opened softly.
"Good morning, my lady," came a careful voice. A young maid entered, clutching folded linens and a tray of water and fruit. Her eyes flicked up briefly, nervous. "His Majesty requests you be made ready for the morning council and breakfast."
The words struck Aurelia like a stone. His Majesty.
Even now, hearing the title felt unreal.
