Wish walked down from the balcony, her legs still shaky, her breathing not quite steady. She straightened her dress with trembling fingers, smoothing down the wrinkled silk, tugging the bodice back into place, trying desperately to pull together some semblance of dignity after what had just happened.
Her face was still flushed. Her lips were still swollen. Her neck—gods, her neck—was covered in marks that she could feel burning against her skin even without looking.
She took a breath. Steadied herself. Kept walking.
And then she heard it.
A soft chuckle.
Low. Amused. Unmistakably Nyla.
Wish's spine went rigid.
She looked up and found Nyla leaning against the corner of the corridor, half-hidden in shadow, smiling with a cruelty that made Wish's stomach turn. Her arms were crossed, her head tilted, her eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction.
