The ceremony hall had become stifling, a cacophony of idle chatter, forced laughter, and endless congratulations that held no sincerity. I needed air. Under the pretence of helping one of the maids, I slipped out of the grand hall and wandered into the garden.
The night air was cool, crisp, carrying a faint floral scent that contrasted sharply with the oppressive grandeur of the ceremony.
I took a deep breath and walked along the stone path, letting the tension in my shoulders ease. The garden was sprawling and beautiful, a labyrinth of trimmed hedges, statues, and softly glowing lanterns. It gave me space to think—to grapple with the storm inside me.
Idris had become Duke. It was supposed to be a victory, a triumphant moment that marked the culmination of years of sacrifice and strugg
