Soraya's POV
The night did not bring peace.
It never did anymore.
I sat on the edge of the narrow bed, Liam asleep beside me, his small hand fisted in the fabric of my sleeve as though even in dreams he feared I might vanish again. His lashes rested softly against his cheeks, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that grounded me more than any prayer ever could.
I brushed my thumb over his knuckles, slow and careful.
He was safe.
For now.
But safety here was an illusion, thin as spun glass.
The room Princess Seraphine had given me was quiet, warm, almost kind. Too kind for a place that had allowed a dungeon to exist beneath its stones. Too kind for a kingdom about to be ruled by a princess like Elowen.
My jaw tightened at the thought of her.
Her warning still echoed in my ears. Her threats. Her arrogance. The way she had looked at me as though I were dirt beneath her heel—until I dared to look back.
Until I dared to remind her I was not afraid.
