SANDRA’S POV The dreams came every night now, sharper, louder, more vivid than the last. Sharon stood on the balcony of the Jordan Pack throne room, twins on either side of her like crowned princes. The elders knelt, the warriors bowed and the people cheered her name while I burned at the stake in the courtyard below, silk dress melting into my skin, screams swallowed by the roar of the crowd. Every time I woke up gasping, tasting ash, the same words ringing in my skull: You let her win.I couldn’t let her win. But how? I had no heir. My womb was a dead place, the doctors had confirmed it after too many post pills. The throne would pass to no one if I died. But if Sharon’s brats lived, if they ever set foot inside these walls with Roland’s blood in their veins, the elders would crown them before my corpse was cold. I saw it every time I closed my eyes.There was only one way to stop it, I needed Darius, again. I hated him, I hated the way he smelled like smoke and iron, hated the ro
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