That night, Vanda walked the silent corridors, restless. His instincts screamed at him to leave Arven before he became entangled further.
And yet… when he passed by the servant halls, his steps slowed.
Through a cracked door, he saw her — Daya, tending to her mother, her face lit by the faint glow of a candle. Despite exhaustion, she smiled, speaking softly to soothe her mother's coughs.
A warmth stirred in him, foreign and unwelcome. He clenched his fists. "Why her?"
He turned away, but the image burned in his mind.
In her small heart, Daya also fought a battle. For every time she prayed to remain unseen, fate dragged her closer to the Prince's shadow.
And Rosa was already sharpening her next blade.