Bastian’s POV
The heavy oak door closes behind us with a soft thud, cutting off the echoes of the throne room and the muffled voices of the retreating guards. The first rays of sunlight filter through the tall windows, casting golden streaks across the polished stone floor. The room is quiet, save for the faint rustling of the breeze outside. It smells faintly of aged wood and the lavender sachets tucked into the corners—small comforts in a world that’s felt anything but comforting lately.
I glance at Liliana as she steps toward the window. The light catches in her emerald-green eyes, turning them into shimmering pools of emotion I can’t quite decipher. Her posture is stiff, her shoulders drawn tight like a bowstring. I know the weight she’s carrying; I feel it too.
“Liliana,” I say, my
