The first thing I registered was the scent.
There was no damp mildew, no lingering metallic tang of blood, and no suffocating stench of ash. Instead, the air was heavy with the rich, earthy aroma of cedarwood, crushed mint, and the faint, ozone-sharp smell of a thunderstorm. It was the scent of the man who had pulled me from the mud.
I slowly opened my eyes. I was lying in the center of a massive, impossibly soft bed draped in dark furs and thick velvet blankets. The room was expansive, built from dark mahogany and polished stone. Sunlight—warm and golden—streamed through a towering arched window that overlooked a breathtaking, snow-capped mountain range.
I wasn't in the servant's quarters. I wasn't in Bloodmoon territory.
"You've been asleep for a week, little Queen."
I flinched, my
