The ride back to the palace felt like a funeral procession.
Not because of the silence—there was plenty of noise. The thunder of hooves, the clank of armor, the occasional barked order from one of Darius's commanders. But beneath it all, threading through every sound like a poisonous undercurrent, was the knowledge that we were riding toward a reckoning.
Elian had fallen asleep against my chest, exhausted from terror and tears. His small body was warm, his breathing steady, and I held him like he was the only real thing in a world made of smoke and mirrors. Maybe he was.
Darius's arm remained around my waist, steadying me in the saddle. His touch was careful, almost reverent, as if I might shatter at any moment. He wasn't entirely wrong. I could feel the cracks spreading through me with every heartbeat, spiderwebbing out from wounds both old and new.
"You're bleeding again," Darius said quietly, his breath warm against my temple. "We need to stop. Let the physicians—"
