The morning light was a pale, watery grey, filtering through the high windows of the stronghold like a secret being whispered in a library. Serena moved through the corridors with the silent, frantic grace of a ghost. She had dressed in her own clothes, which the castle’s strange, internal heat had dried to a crisp parchment-stiffness overnight. Every time her boots clicked against the stone, she winced, convinced that Valan would appear behind her, his eyes heavy with the memory of the night.
She avoided the dining hall. She avoided the sitting room. She even avoided the main courtyard until she was certain the horses were saddled and the servants were occupied elsewhere.
Her skin felt too tight for her body. She couldn't stop thinking about the way she had entered his room, sat on his
