Celine did not sleep well that night.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Aria standing before her in the corridor, wearing that cold, unguarded expression that had vanished the moment the Blackridge Luna appeared.
The memory replayed itself with merciless clarity, the way Aria’s gaze had lingered on her stomach, the quiet precision of her words, the ease with which the mask of concern had slipped back into place.
Eight months is as far as you can go.
The words refused to leave her mind.
They settled into the quiet spaces between her thoughts and stayed there, heavy and persistent.
By morning, Celine had made up her mind. She would not give Aria another chance to get close to her.
She called for the head guard as soon as she finished breakfast. The man arrived promptly, still
