Outside, the world waited for Duke Zarkiel's decision.But inside that room, the only thing Demian hoped for was this that Valerie would open her eyes.
Night crept down slowly, carrying a cold that clung to the castle walls like a long, held breath. Inside the room, time seemed to stop circling only between the steady drip of the IV and Valerie's fragile breathing.
Demian did not move.
He had taken off his coat and shoes, sitting at the bedside with his back slightly bent, as if moving even an inch too far might shatter something delicate. Candlelight cast harsh shadows across his face his jaw tight, his eyes red, stripped of their usual sharpness. Not from exhaustion alone, but from a guilt he refused to name.
"Wake up," he whispered, barely audible. "I'm not good at waiting."
His hand closed around Valerie's fingers. Cold. Too cold for someone who should be alive, breathing, responding. He pressed his thumb gently, as if begging the stubborn pulse to answer.
Nothing.
