Kiara The rain had come the night before, after Ryden had left me, not the gentle, whispering kind, but the relentless, pounding sort that drowned out all other sounds. It hammered against the slate rooftops of the palace, cascaded down its pale limestone walls in shimmering sheets, and pooled in the ornamental gardens below, turning the crushed quartz pathways into glistening silver veins. By dawn, the skies had emptied themselves, leaving behind a world washed clean, the air crisp with the scent of rain-soaked lavender and wet stone. I stood at the edge of the field, my boots sinking slightly into the mud. The cold was insistent, gnawing at my fingers, my cheeks, the back of my neck. It wasn’t the kind of chill that could be shaken off with movement; it clung, persistent, like a second skin. The manor behind us rose in elegant tiers of arched windows and delicate spires, its façade adorned with intricate carvings of vines and mythical beasts. The morning light caught on the gi
閱讀更多
