Tyla’s POV
The corridors of the palace felt colder without Arthur.
Even after two weeks, the echo of his footsteps lingered, the ghost of his presence clinging to every wall, every hall, every place he had stood beside me. I tried to focus on healing, on walking without trembling, on breathing without feeling like part of me was missing.
But some wounds refused to close.
Hayley fussed beside me as we walked toward the courtyard fountain. “My lady, you should rest—”
“I’ve rested enough,” I said gently. “If I lie in that bed again, I’ll lose my mind.”
She didn’t argue. She knew I wasn’t wrong.
The palace grounds were peaceful today. Birds perched along the marble railings, flowers bloomed in perfect lines, and sunlight caught the fountain’s spray, turning it into silver mist.
Then—
