Shellia walked beside Diana toward the private dining hall, her heartbeat loud, her mind still foggy—half floating between reality and the labyrinth of worries she had been trapped in earlier. She had tried to shake it off, truly, but every step toward Allen made her thoughts scatter again like frightened birds.
By the time she reached the carved double doors of the dining room, her soul felt halfway detached from her body.
Diana bowed slightly. "Please enjoy your dinner, Lady Shellia."
Shellia nodded… or thought she did.
The doors opened.
And there he was.
Allen Aurora—her fiancé, the crown prince, the man who wanted to announce their marriage soon—sat waiting at the head of the table. His dark hair framed his face in soft waves, his emerald eyes sharpening the moment he saw her.
But then his expression gentled, concern flickering beneath the surface.
"Shellia," he said softly.
His voice washed over her like warm light.
