The warmth of the sheets pressed against my skin—once comforting—now felt heavy, weighted with the enormity of what had just occurred. My fingers trembled as I touched the lace edge of the dress hidden beneath the duvet. The gown of war had done its purpose, but my body had paid dear.
My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing in the stillness of the room. I was alone—too alone. The gravity between these walls felt suffocating, as if even the stone held its breath, waiting.
I hadn’t known such exhaustion could exist beyond physical fatigue. Each breath was slow, deliberate, a quiet attempt to reclaim myself from the storm. A whirlwind of power, betrayal, desire, and ritual had just passed through me—and I had let it.
My skin prickled as a soft knock sounded at the door. Isabella’s
