The East Tower was not designed for comfort. It was designed for forgotten things.
The walls were bare, weeping stone. The only furniture was a narrow cot with a thin wool blanket and a single, hard-backed wooden chair. A narrow slit of a window, barred with thick iron, let in a pale sliver of afternoon sunlight.
Kaia paced the length of the small circular room, the heavy silk of her ivory gown sweeping across the dusty flagstones.
She was a prisoner. She was ruined. She had no allies except a gay Prince, a terrified valet, and a Crown Prince who was currently locked in a cell of his own.
She walked to the window and looked out through the iron bars. She couldn't see the courtyard, only the sprawling, dense canopy of the Arindale forests stretching out toward the horizon.
I will come for you, Aeron had promised. Even if I have to tear the stones of this palace apart with my bare hands.
