Ian's POV Night fell like ash on water – soft, but suffocating. The sky was bruised in purples and dying gold. It bled through the high window slits of my chamber, casting elongated shadows that crept across the stone walls. And the air carried a hush, like the castle itself held its breath. My chamber was dimly lit by a few oil lamps, their flames flickering low as if wary of what loomed ahead. Kiva knelt near my feet, carefully massaging my calves with oils that smelled faintly of lavender and crushed pine needles. Her touch was gentle, practiced. I watched her slender fingers work, massaging slow, deliberate circles into my arches, the glint of candlelight dancing off her ink-stained nails. Her quill and parchment sat beside her, ever within reach. Her hand movements were gentle, reverent, as though she feared I might crack under pressure - because truth be told, I already had. "Kiva," I murmured. She looked up, eyes full of quiet curiosity. "What do you think of tomorro
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