(Winter's POV)
The walk back to her room did little to calm her rage.
She closed the door to her chambers with deliberate care, the soft click of the latch sounding loud in the sudden silence. For a moment, she simply stood there, forehead resting against the cool wood, eyes closed, breathing in the scent of cedar and stone that permeated Bloodstone's walls. The rage that had carried her from Zulan's office, through the corridors, past servants who had pressed themselves against walls to give her passage—that rage still hummed beneath her skin like electricity seeking ground.
She took a moment. Just one. To rest. To try and calm the storm that had been building since she'd heard the rumor of her own death, since she'd realized Dion had buried her memory while she still breathed, since Z
