KYRA The palace was quiet, almost eerily so, the kind of silence that only followed a hard-fought battle. Sunlight streamed softly through the windows, falling across the polished floors, the tapestries, and most importantly… across him.Zyran was stretched across the bed, chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm, still showing the faint marks of bruises and cuts from the last fight. His hair fell messily across his forehead, lips parted slightly, and for the first time since I’d been born, or maybe since I’d survived, he looked… human. Vulnerable. Alive.I sat on the edge of the bed, tracing a finger along the line of his jaw, careful not to wake him. Relief, exhaustion, and something else, a fierce, possessive ache, tugged at my chest. I had survived hell to get him here, to keep him alive, and now I could… breathe.“Sleep,” I whispered softly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “You’ve earned it.”His hand twitched slightly in response, but he didn’t wake. I leaned
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