Rhaelyn’s POV:
He looked different now.
Not because he had grown taller or stronger, not even because he carried himself like the dragons of old. No. Ryvarn looked different because of the way he moved—calmer, like the storm inside him had finally settled.
And that unsettled me.
I stood at the edge of the terrace, the wind brushing against my hair. The moon hung low and fat in the sky, its silver light slanting across the stone floor. Below, the courtyard was quiet, and somewhere far beneath this tower, he was probably asleep. Or maybe not. He didn’t rest much these days. None of us did.
He had that look in his eyes lately. The kind that said he had chosen something—or someone—and nothing would shake him from it.
I hated it.
Not because I wanted what he had. But because I hated what
