Back in her room Sophia closed the door quietly behind her. Lights had been kept modest, the room in a tranquil gold. The comb still sat on the table, untouched but not returned. The book remained on her windowsill, open now to the first page.
She sat on the bed and ran her hand across the embroidered blanket—one of the new ones sent for the children’s ward, made by someone who hadn’t asked to be thanked.
She thought of Ethan’s face beneath the tree. The way he didn’t defend himself. The way he didn’t try to win.
For the first time in weeks, she felt tired enough to sleep.
Not because she was weak.
But because she had nothing left to prove tonight.
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The mornings have become colder now.
Not the weather, it was already autumn stealing down the walls of the palace, and between the
