SERAPHINA
The journey back to the Eastern Kingdom takes five days.
I spend them sitting in the cramped carriage, watching the landscape change from snow-covered mountains to the rolling green hills of home. The driver doesn't speak to me except to indicate when we're stopping for the night. No courtesy, no "Your Highness," just silence and cold efficiency.
Somewhere around the second day, I start feeling sick. Nausea comes in waves, making me press my hand to my mouth and breathe slowly. I assume it's from the rejection—my body adjusting to the severed bond, the emptiness where it used to be.
The exhaustion is worse. Sleep doesn't help. My breasts are tender, my body aches, and the nausea gets stronger in the mornings. I tell myself it's stress. Everything I've been through catching up
