Ivy’s POV
The stables were busy.
Everywhere I looked, people were moving—brushing coats, adjusting saddles, tightening reins. The scent of fresh hay and polished leather filled the air, mixed with the soft snorts of restless horses and the occasional barked instruction from the stable master.
The annual races were coming.
And even though I wanted to care—wanted to feel excited like everyone else—I just couldn’t. Not with Rhea still walking around like she belonged. Not with the memory of her lips brushing Leon’s neck burned into my mind.
I helped where I could, brushing down a pale mare named Lyra, her white coat gleaming under my hand. She was calm, gentle, nothing like the storm churning in my chest.
A maid passed by with a tray of water for the trainers. She smiled at me. I tried
