DARIAN
There were moments in the palace that almost felt… quiet. Not peaceful, just still. The kind of stillness that settled over you like a thick fog, where everything looked normal but nothing felt right.
I sat by the open window, the evening air brushing against my face, cold and unbothered by the storm that lived under my skin. The war councils had ended, the physicians had left my mother’s bedside and for the first time in days, there was no one demanding my attention.
I could hear myself breathe, but even that felt too loud.
I leaned my head back against the chair, shutting my eyes. I didn’t want to think about the rituals Lyra had planned or the way my wolf clawed and scratched anytime she got close, or the way he stilled whenever I passed the east wing—the wing she had once
