Enora was in her chambers, sitting on one of the high-backed sofas, her gaze fixed on the unlit fireplace. The flames hadn’t danced there for days, and that emptiness was a cruel reflection of her own inner void. The silence was thick, almost oppressive, as if the palace walls held each of her thoughts and returned them multiplied.
She was tired. Deeply tired.
She had locked Kiara in the mauve tower. She had kept Dantriel, her companion, at a distance, denying him even the closeness of her presence. It had been like tearing her heart out with her own hands and leaving it beating in a place she couldn’t look at without breaking down. For a bond like theirs, there was no crueler punishment.
A long, trembling sigh escaped her lips, as if she were trying to expel centuries of guilt and pain
