The Silver-Crest Manor was no longer the tomb of secrets it had been under Silas’s reign. In the light of the morning, it felt transformed. The heavy, oppressive velvet drapes had been drawn back, allowing the pale, crisp Northern sun to flood the rooms. The scent of ozone and rot had been replaced by the smell of pine, hearth-wood, and the faint, grounding musk of the three men who shared Nyx’s life.
Nyx woke slowly, the sensation of warmth surrounding her like a living blanket. She was nestled in the center of the oversized bed, a tangle of limbs and soft breaths. Caspian’s arm was draped possessively over her waist, his thumb tracing a rhythmic, soothing pattern against her skin. Vane was propped against the pillows behind her, his hand gently carding through her hair, while Malphas wa
