The remaining two days were absolute torture for both Lucien and Elian. Trapped within the suffocating orbit of the royal family, Lucien was forced to spend every waking hour locked in endless planning sessions, tasting wedding cakes, reviewing guest lists, and enduring Rowena's suffocating presence under the watchful eyes of King Alaric.
Every smile he offered was a masked grimace; every courteous word to his bride-to-be tasted like ash.
For Elian, the isolation was equally grueling. Kept out of sight to avoid drawing further suspicion from the rattled King, he spent the hours counting down the ticks of the palace clock, burning with the restless need to move, to act, to finish what they had started.
Now, with only twenty-four hours left before the wedding bells were scheduled to toll, the time for waiting had officially run out.
The morning air was crisp and heavy with the scent of woodsmoke as a large supply wagon rattled through the palace gates.
