MARLA’S P.O.V.
The castle walls always felt colder when I wasn’t invited to stay.
I walked the hallways in silence, heels echoing against stone, my silk gown trailing behind like a whisper of relevance. Liam hadn’t said more than five words to me in passing. Not since the last war meeting. Not since the last humiliation.
I’d delivered my suggestion—politely, publicly, perfectly. And he’d dismissed me like a passing breeze. No recognition. No gratitude. Just that cold, flat stare and the subtle weight of dismissal.
And worse? The others had laughed. Not outright, but I’d seen the flickers of amusement in their eyes. Jake with his smug chewing. Carlos pretending not to roll his eyes. Zach stiffening like my presence had physically punched him in the gut.
That one stung more than I liked
