Lyra’s POV
I took a deep breath outside the heavy oak doors of Nyx’s private suite, trying to steady my hands. The basket I carried felt heavier than it should, filled with all her favorites—jasmine-scented candles that burned slow and sweet, a bottle of rare perfume distilled from midnight blooms in the southern packs, and those little honeyed fruits she used to pop into her mouth during our lazy afternoons. I’d wrapped everything in black silk, tied with a red ribbon. Red like blood. Red like passion.
It had been some time since the dining room disaster. it felt like days of pacing my room, replaying her cold words, her indifference. But I knew Nyx. She was fire wrapped in ice. She’d melt for me again. She always did. I just needed to remind her what we had—what no filthy human like Ka
