Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Elora stomped her way through the snow, and the word echoed in her head each time she took a step forward, her footprints formed a shallow hole on the snowy ground as she covered the distance between the door and the gate leading away from the estate.
Her gloved hands were knotted at her sides, her breath making ghostly curls in the frozen air. She didn't want to think about what had happened that night in the library—the sharp-toned words, the icy coldness in Azazeal's eyes before he'd left her standing there, heart hammering in her chest.
This time however, her whole brain and mind refuse to make her forget the night and she continues to be reminded of all the stupid things she did on that fateful night.
The memory makes her stomach twist. She had told the king to leave her alone, to stay out of her bed, and he had obeyed. Too well.
