The flickering light of the dying fire spill jagged, dancing shadows against the golden velvet of the bed curtains, making the room feel like a sanctuary suspended in time. Outside, the Northern wind continued its relentless assault on the stone battlements, but inside, the air had turned heavy by a truth that had been buried beneath layers of survival and silent prayers.
Verona's heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, uneven rhythm that felt loud enough to wake the entire fortress. She had finally said it. The words hung in the chilled air between them, shimmering like a dangerous spell that couldn't be uncast.
She braced herself. She expected Elric to pull his hand away. She expected him to sit up, his face hardening into the skeptical mask of a Duke, before calling for Ardene to check her for lingering mana-delirium. She expected the rejection that usually followed madness.
