Aria Snow pov :
Consciousness did not return to me gently. It did not wake me with the warm, golden sunlight of the Rose Room or the heavy, comforting weight of Caspian’s arm draped securely over my waist.
It returned like a physical blow to the chest, sharp and excruciating.
I gasped, my eyes flying open as my lungs violently expanded, pulling in air that tasted of stale dampness, rusted iron, and the suffocating, putrid stench of ancient dark magic. The scent of rotting autumn leaves and stagnant water heavily coated the back of my throat, making my stomach heave instantly.
I was lying on a freezing, solid stone floor.
I slowly pushed myself up onto my hands and knees, my muscles screaming in protest. The beautiful, shimmering white chiffon gown I had worn to the Pack Festival
