The weeks following the raid settled into a gentle rhythm that Maisie had never known existed.
Mornings began with sunlight spilling across her bed, no chains rattling, no cruel hands waking her. She would rise, bathe in the marble tub with warm scented water, and dress in soft gowns that felt like a caress against her healing skin. Breakfast was shared with Kylen on the terrace overlooking the mountains — quiet conversations over tea and fruit, where he listened more than he spoke.
He was patient in every way.
When nightmares still came — memories of Gaius’s fists, Beau’s taunts, the cold floor beneath her — Kylen would appear at her door within moments. He never climbed into her bed uninvited. Instead, he sat in the armchair, voice low and steady, until she felt safe enough to breathe
