The following day, the castle felt as though it were holding its breath.
The air, once filled with the footsteps of servants and the light clink of metal, had turned rigid as if everyone were walking on thin glass. Demian appeared more often now in the corridors, near the door to Valerie's chambers, at the dining table his presence like a shadow that never truly withdrew. Too close. Too watchful.
Valerie felt it clearly.
Every movement was observed, every small decision seeming to require unspoken approval. Even her silence felt wrong. She woke with an exhausted body and a tangled mind, the remnants of the previous night still etched into her awareness not as a memory she wished to keep, but as a bitter confirmation of how fragile her claim over herself truly was.
She said nothing.
Not to Sera. Not to Lira. Not to anyone.
