Morwenna’s POV
A chill lingered beneath my skin long after Sabine left, as if the obsidian blade she’d handed me had etched its weight into my bones.
The fire had died to a faint red glow. Shadows danced along the stone walls, and every creak of the castle felt alive—like the very halls were watching, waiting to see which path I would choose. Power or love. Blood or surrender.
I curled my fingers tighter around the obsidian shard. It pulsed faintly, humming like it could hear my thoughts.
Sleep never came.
At dawn, I was escorted to the bathing chamber, where silence reigned. No handmaidens this time. Only cold water, coarse towels, and the lingering scent of ash from last night’s fire. I scrubbed my skin raw, trying to wash away the dread, but it clung to me like second skin.
By mid
