The castle was silent, save for the low hum of wind echoing through the stone corridors, an ancient, familiar sound that wrapped around the night like a velvet shroud.
Moonlight poured through the tall windows of the west wing, silvering the marbled floor and casting long, trembling shadows against the bedposts and the sheer curtains that swayed like ghosts in the breeze. The fire had long since died in the hearth, but the warmth between those walls still lingered, from old memories, from forgotten kisses, from battles never truly buried.
The room smelled faintly of rosewood, of her skin, of longing left to rot in silence. The sheets were untouched, except for the deep crease on her side of the bed—the only place she allowed herself to sleep.
Taylor stood by the doorway, the glow of the
