The fire crackled softly in the hearth, painting golden shadows on the stone walls of the chamber. Outside, the wind whispered warnings against the castle’s edges, as though even nature had grown restless in the waiting silence before the war. But inside, everything was still—except Adeline.
She rose from the bed slowly, as if tearing herself from a dream, her bare feet brushing against the cold floor. Her fingers brushed over her arms, not from the chill, but from the memory of Lucan’s touch—fierce and soft, reckless and reverent. A contradiction she had memorized with every inch of her skin.
Pulling the silk robe tighter around her, she walked to the tall windows. The horizon was streaked with the bruised colors of early dawn, the sky heavy with clouds that promised more than rain. Her
