The rest of that night passed in fragments for Ashley. She returned to the scullery long after the hall had emptied, her hands shaking as she scrubbed the silver until her knuckles bled. The other servants cast curious glances but asked no questions. In Blackthorn Keep, silence was safer than curiosity. She finished her chores by candlelight, then slipped into the narrow attic room she shared with two other maids. The pallet was thin, the blanket thinner, but she curled beneath it anyway, staring at the rafters while the bond pulsed beneath her skin like a second heartbeat.Sleep refused to come. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Damien: the hard line of his jaw, the storm in his gaze, the way his fingers had trembled when they touched her. The bond was alive now, a living thing coiled in her chest, tightening with every breath she took. She had heard stories of true mates, whispered tales passed between kitchen girls on cold nights. They spoke of instant knowing, of souls recogn
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