The days that followed the feast dragged like winter nights—cold, long, and heavy with silence.
Lucien never spoke of what Seraphina had whispered that night. But I didn't need him to. I had heard enough.
Instead, he grew harsher.
Chores I never should have been assigned were suddenly mine. The warriors smirked as I hauled crates across the courtyard. Servants whispered as I scrubbed the hall floors. Each task seemed chosen with care, designed not just to break my back but to humiliate me.
And all the while, Lucien watched.
Sometimes from the balcony above. Sometimes from the far end of the training yard. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, burned into me like a brand. He said nothing. Did nothing. Just watched—as if waiting for me to crumble.
But I didn't.
Every time my muscles screame
