Arwen
Viggo sleeps like a stone.
Which is ironic, considering he spent half the night glaring at every menacing shadow in our chambers. He fears losing me again, and it’s as if Silvenglen itself might try to claw me away from him. Viggo wouldn’t even let me enter the room until he’d scoured every inch, jaw clenched, breath rigid with worry, desperate to make sure nothing could take me from his side.
I tried to calm him down, but panic flickered in his eyes. There was nothing here that could hurt me or take me from him, yet he became obsessed. The silence between us felt suffocating; I couldn't reach him. I hoped that after he let Bard out for a run, he'd relax, but he didn't. If anything, his anxiety spun tighter, his fear growing worse.
I don’t know what it is about Silvenglen that ha
