Lucian had been startled awake after not being able to bear the burning fire, which seemed to want to devour him alive, searing his skin and lungs with every breath.
The sensation was so vivid, so merciless, that for a moment he had believed he truly was being consumed. A suffocating heat clawed at his chest, igniting a raw ache inside him that he couldn't place, something ancient, something buried, something that refused to be ignored.
Then, just as suddenly, his body jerked, and he had found himself back in the familiar confines of his chambers.
The heavy curtains were drawn, muting the light, but the storm in his chest didn't settle. His sharp eyes immediately fell on Rosaline sitting close by, her delicate features framed with worry.
Yet instead of comfort, a surge of anger welled up in him, anger he didn't fully understand, but it was there, simmering and restless.
And then the echo of the voice he had heard in the flames returned to him, sharp and cold as steel.
