Adonis Winchester POV
The war room was cold.
It was always cold. Even in summer, the stone walls held the chill of the mountains. The torches flickered in their brackets, casting long shadows across the maps and scrolls that covered the large oak table. The windows were narrow slits, barely letting in the pale moonlight.
I couldn't plot my war. And so, I tried to sleep. Went to bed beside my wife and Mate.
I lay in the massive four-poster bed, the silk sheets tangled around my legs. Aurora slept beside me, her breathing slow and even. But I couldn't find peace.
My mind was jumping.
I tried to plan strategy for the war I was winning. I tried to count the troops. I tried to map the supply lines. But every thought circled back to her.
Tilly.
My daughter.
My little girl.
And this nagging feeling—this terrible, gnawing feeling—that all was not well with her.
I kept tossing. I kept turning. I was at risk of waking Aurora.
"Donni?"
Too late.
