Ivy's POV
The silence in the guest quarters was suffocating.
Ivy sat motionless on the edge of the bed, her injured wrist cradled against her chest. The dull throb had become a rhythm, steady and maddening, pulsing up her arm and into her skull. The room was modest—simple bed, wooden dresser, a small table with a flickering oil lamp—but no matter how soft the bedding or how warm the fire, it felt like a prison. A prettier cage was still a cage.
She glanced at the door for the third time in under a minute.
Where was the healer?
Each second that passed weighed heavier than the last. Her thoughts spiraled—what if Selena had already concocted another lie? What if the Alpha changed his mind? What if the maid recanted her statement out of fear? Ivy wasn’t safe. Not really. Not yet.
A soft
