The Watcher
Rhea
The damp and suffocating weight of the palace air was getting to me. It didn’t matter how much I scrubbed the floors, the scent of woodsmoke, old stone, and that f*****g lingering memory of Darius was trapped in the seams of my clothes.
"Keep your head down, Rhea," I muttered to myself.
‘Stop muttering, you're going to give yourself away,’ Astraea hissed, her voice vibrating behind my eyes like a trapped insect. ‘Stay calm. If he smells even a drop of your fear, he's going to tear this place apart to find the source.’
I forced a breath, my hands were white against the broom handle. We were working the west wing, which was an endless stretch of marble and dark, imposing portraits.
I felt his presence before I saw him. That prickle on the back of my neck meant a predat
