ELARA'S POV“Please,” I whisper, “come back to me.”Dravon takes a single step forward. The stone beneath his boots cracks. His breathing is uneven, harsh. I can feel his power, raw, burning, ancient, rolling off him like a storm. His eyes were constantly changing from blue, to gold, to black.“You were bleeding,” he says, his voice guttural, almost broken. “She hurt you. She hurt you.”“I know but I’m fine,” I lie. “You’ve done enough. You’ve protected me. Everything is okay now.”The shadows tremble again, as if unsure whether to strike or fade. The fire flickers lower. But then someone shouts from the far end of the hall…“She’s bewitched him! The Queen is controlling the King!”It’s one of the older nobles, Lord Verran, his voice cutting through the air like poison. He is one of Lord Veyra's right hand men, always agreeing to whatever he says. And that one sentence, just that one, is enough to tip everything back into chaos. All my pleas slip through my fingers.
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