Phoebe's POV
The silence in the aftermath of the storm was the loudest thing I had ever heard.
Reginald's body had been removed. The blood had been scrubbed from the floorboards of the Valerium palace. The rebellion, decapitated by the death of its leader, crumbled within hours.
When Timothy burst through the doors an hour later, breathless and frantic, with Jude clinging to his arm and Harlow riding on his hip, unharmed and holding a melting sweet bun she'd been given by a "nice lady" in the market, the relief nearly buckled my knees.
It was over. Truly, finally over.
We returned to Mya three days later. The journey back was different. The fear was gone, replaced by a quiet, contemplative peace. But beneath the surface, a shadow still lingered.
The shadow of the empty nursery. The shadow of the whispers I had heard in the hallway. A barren Queen. A dead end.
