Elowyn slipped into the quiet of her quarters, her body dragging with the weight of the day.
The moment the door shut, her shoulders collapsed. She moved stiffly, every step reminding her of the ache low in her belly.
Her hands trembled as she washed out the stained cloth in the basin, scrubbing harder than necessary as if she could erase the shame along with the blood. The water turned pink, then red. She swallowed hard.
Not here. Not now.
But then, what could she do?
Her disguise had held for so long, but this—this was something she couldn’t train her body out of.
The cramps twisted again, sharper this time, making her grip the basin until her knuckles went white.
Once the cloth was rinsed, she hung it low by the window and quickly changed into new soft cottons, tights and fresh
