The next few days passed in a blur of vials. The success of the antidote, the slow, irreversible death of the poison, brought great joy to Daphne's heart.
She poured herself into her work, losing track of time as she prepared a larger quantity of the cure.
Each concentrated hour was an attempt to fill the hollow that Alaric had left, a desperate bid to convince herself that she didn't miss him.
She couldn't admit that she was almost going crazy from his absence. He hadn't visited since their fight, though the small, delicate bouquets of orchids that arrived in her room each morning were a silent reminder of his enduring affection.
Soon, the day of the Trial of Combat arrived.
The arena was a massive, circular pit of hard-packed earth surrounded by tiered stone seating.
The surviving contestants, their numbers greatly reduced, were lined up in the center. Unlike the previous test, there was a thick tension in the air.
