Pain was the first thing I felt. A dull, throbbing ache in my shoulder that pulsed with each heartbeat. The rest of me felt heavy, sluggish, as though my body wasn’t entirely my own.
I blinked against a soft glow. The ceiling above me was carved stone, unfamiliar. The air smelled faintly of herbs, smoke, and something sterile. My chest tightened. Where was I? Who happened to me? Was I still a prisoner?
I shifted, wincing as the pain sharpened. The bed beneath me was softer than anything I had ever known—plush enough that I sank into it. Not the battlefield. Not the slums. Not a dream either. The ache was too real.
Panic pricked at my chest, but then I saw him.
The prince.
He sat in a chair beside the bed, his head tilted, arms folded across his chest in sleep. Strands of dark hair fe
