Damien
By the time I rode back through the gates, the last of the light swallowed by clouds that hung low and heavy over the mountain like a shroud, and each step across the courtyard landed in my bones as though the weight I carried had fused to my spine. I did not pause. Did not shed the cold from my cloak or the scent of pine and iron still clinging to my skin. I climbed the stair with purpose carved into every stride, the guards bowing low as I passed, their eyes quick and wary, though none dared speak.
The doors to the Luna wing stood wide in the torchlight, and I pushed through without knocking, the old wood groaning in protest as it struck the wall.
She was there.
Sitting by the window, framed in the amber glow of the fire, her face turned toward the frost-rimmed glass as though
