Amara
The fires had died down, but the scent of smoke still clung to the stone walls of Silverfell.
I stood at the balcony outside our chambers, watching the horizon turn from bruised purple to a softer gold. The night had been long. Bloody. Terrifying. But we had survived.
Barely.
Below, in the castle courtyard, healers moved among the wounded. Warriors carried the dead to the sacred pyres where flames already flickered, preparing for the sunrise ceremony. A soft murmur of grief and exhaustion hung in the air.
I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the steady thud of my heart beneath my ribs. The bond with Lucian thrummed faintly there, a quiet, constant comfort. He had returned in the early hours, bloodied but victorious.
Cedric was captured. His forces scattered.
And yet…
I could
