Tara woke up screaming.
Not from a nightmare but from a memory.
Her body jerked violently against the silk-lined bed, breath tearing out of her lungs as if she were still chained to cold stone. Her hands clawed at her chest, nails digging into skin as phantom pain surged through her veins.
“Tara—Tara, you’re safe.”
The voice cut through the fog.
Warm. Steady. Real.
Emmanuel.
He was already there, sitting beside her bed like he hadn’t moved in days. The moment she woke, he was holding her—one hand anchoring her wrist, the other pressed flat against her back, grounding her trembling body.
“Breathe,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. Nothing’s touching you.”
Her eyes finally focused.
The royal infirmary glowed softly around her—white stone, healing runes pulsing gently, wards humming wi
