Chapter 8

ELYSIA’S POV

The days blurred together, dripping past like blood from an unhealed wound.

I woke. I slept. I bled. I healed.

Or at least, that was what the healers whispered — that my body had “mended better than expected.” I wanted to laugh in their faces. What good was a body that healed if the soul inside it begged to end?

I lost count after three. Or maybe it was four.

Time had no meaning inside Danearo’s chamber. My world was reduced to firelight, heavy furs that pressed down like chains, and the sharp ache that pulsed in my stomach with every breath.

The healers called it a miracle. “You were lucky,” they whispered, their hands smelling of herbs and smoke as they pressed bandages against me.

Lucky.

If I had been lucky, I would have died.

Instead, I woke each morning — if it was morning at all — and stared at the stone ceiling while the whispers outside the door leaked in through the cracks.

“Cursed thing.”

“She tried to cut herself open before the pack.”

“He should’ve let her bl