DamonThe ceremonial hall reeked of smoke and theater.Incense clung to the rafters like fog that had lost its way, thick and perfumed, masking the scent of cold stone and sweaty courtiers.Flames flickered low in wrought-iron braziers at each corner of the room, casting everything in shades of ambe
I hadn’t removed the gown. The emerald velvet clung to my arms, the embroidery at my throat scratchy and stiff. My spine ached from holding perfect posture. My cheeks burned from invisible stares that hadn’t followed me here, but had branded me through eight hours of drills.A knock at the door made
LilaI had never been so aware of my posture in my life.Back straight. Chin lifted. Hands folded neatly in my lap. Every breath I took in the training chamber felt rehearsed—like if I inhaled too deeply or blinked too slowly, someone would find fault in it.They were watching. All of them.The form
LilaThe garden blurred.I stood rooted in place as the crowd surged like a rising tide, too many voices at once, crashing into each other, demanding answers I couldn’t give. My name—my real name—ripped through the air like a curse.Lila.Someone repeated it. Then another.“Who is she really?”“Elen
Guests had gathered in neat rows, their silks catching the light, their voices pitched in pleasant, practiced tones. It was the kind of event to see and be seen.I stood off to the side in the shade of a carved marble archway, my green gown too warm, my hands too still.My name wasn’t being called.
LilaThree days. That’s how long it had been since Ronan knocked at the door and Damon walked away with my hand still warm in his.He hadn’t spoken much since.Oh, he was present—attentive in his way. He sat with me at meals, slept near enough for our bond to pulse faintly between us, and touched my