CHAPTER 48
She was King Quicke now, yet she still felt like Grace, like something trapped between what she used to be and what she had become. Parkston's rejection.
Inside her chamber, the air was thick with the scent of burning cedar wood. She stood before the ornate mirror, staring at the man reflected back at her. Her broad shoulders, her strong jawline, her deep-set eyes, everything was unfamiliar. She raised a hand, watching the way her fingers trembled as she traced the contours of her face. "Who am I now?"
Her pulse quickened. The bulb flickered violently as if caught in a sudden gust, though the windows were shut. A whisper curled through the room. Grace exhaled slowly, steadying herself. She had no time for weakness.
