"I'll survive," Heena said, trying to smile even though she felt like crying from sheer frustration and exhaustion. "Three days. We can survive three days."
"Three days," Larus repeated, like he was trying to convince himself.
The Duchess was already pulling him down the corridor. "Come along, Your Highness. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
"Goodnight, Your Majesty," Larus called back, and the longing in his voice was almost painful.
"Goodnight," Heena managed, her hand raised in a small wave.
She watched him disappear around the corner, escorted by her aunt and several attendants.
And then she was alone.
In the corridor.
On her wedding night.
Heena stood there for a long moment, processing what had just happened.
Then she screamed—a short, sharp sound of pure frustration that echoed through the empty hallway.
A servant poked her head around the corner nervously. "Your Majesty? Is everything—"
