Ella’s POV
The sigil still burned.
It wasn’t visible anymore—Remo had checked himself, had run his calloused thumb over the pale skin of my wrist, grunted something low and frustrated—but I could feel it like a ghost beneath the surface. Like it had left a mark not on my skin but on my soul.
I sat on the stone bench outside my room, light fading from the sky, the trees whispering with wind that carried the scent of ash and blood.
I couldn’t sleep. I hadn’t slept since the battle.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the witch’s face. The one who had whispered to me as she died, voice cracking, smiling like she’d won something.
“He wasn’t your only curse. The traitor lies beside the throne.”
The words clawed at my mind like they had fangs.
And Remo…
He had been cold before. Distant.
