Chapter Twenty Two
The first breath of outside air tastes wrong.
It isn’t the crisp rush of freedom I expect. It’s cool and damp, tinged with stone and pine, but threaded through with something heavier — like a cord pulled taut, vibrating faintly beneath my skin. The wards. Even out here, beyond the locked wing, they hum against me like invisible walls.
Still, I draw the air deep, filling my chest, savoring the way it cuts colder than anything inside the manor. After days trapped in shadowed halls, even a gilded cage feels like an open sky.
The gardens stretch around William and me in uneven paths. Wild hedges rise high, grown thick with neglect but trimmed just enough to funnel movement toward winding turns. Moss creeps across cracked stone benches. A fountain sits dry, its basin fill
