Elara’s POV
“Michael Harrison.”
He released my hand as I settled onto the cushioned bench across from him. The carriage door clicked shut, sealing out the bitter cold. Warmth wrapped around me immediately—thick velvet seats, a small heating stone glowing amber near the floor.
“And you are?”
“Elara.” I pulled the torn edges of my dress tighter across my chest. The wine stain had dried into a dark, ugly bloom across the bodice. “Just Elara.”
“Well, Just Elara.” His smile was easy. Practiced. “That was quite an exit back there.”
I said nothing. My fingers ached as feeling returned to them. The heating stone pulsed like a small, quiet heartbeat near my frozen bleeding feet.
“There’s a physician’s supply in my townhouse,” he said, leaning back against his seat. “A few blocks from here. W
