Something was terribly wrong.
I could feel it in my chest. A coil of dread that tightened with every breath. It wasn’t just the letter. Not just the cold formality of our mate’s response.
It was the weight of something unspoken—something I hadn’t told my brothers.
Because the truth was… this might have been my fault.
The first letter I sent her—the very first one—had been a disaster. Hastily written, more out of fear than sincerity. I had been trying to avoid another one of Leonidas’s cold lectures, and so I rushed something onto parchment that should’ve never seen the light of day.
And what did I write?
A list of our expectations. Our wants. Our vision for what she should become—as if she were an obligation instead of a person. As if her desires meant nothing.
My brothers had helpe
