AYASHA'S POV
The doors closed behind me with a heavy sound that seemed to swallow up everything. The royal audience chamber stretched out before me, all gleaming marble and silent, watchful walls. I stood just inside the threshold, fingers curling against the fabric of my skirt. I half-expected to be told to leave, for someone to laugh at the sight of me—broken, limping, far from the cold princess I'd trained myself to be. But the guard only nodded for me to move forward, so I did.
King Nahuel sat in the high-backed throne at the far end, legs crossed, one hand draped lazily over the carved armrest. He looked relaxed, almost bored, his crown gleaming in the morning light, but his eyes followed me with the steady focus of a predator. A table stood beside him, set with a carafe of dark wine and two empty goblets. No courtiers. No advisors. Just him, waiting.
"You are the first competitor who has ever demanded my presence," he said when I stopped in front of the dais. "Sit."
