Alaric's POV
By dawn, the castle no longer looked like the battlefield it had been.
Servants and vampires alike moved through the halls with quiet precision, their hands stained with soap and water instead of blood. The broken furniture had been carried off, shattered windows replaced, every dark stain scrubbed from the marble floors until the stone gleamed once more. Tapestries that had been torn down were hung again, chandeliers polished to catch the morning light.
It was as if the war had never happened.
But I knew better.
I stood in the great hall, the same place where Ashton's body had fallen. Now the floor gleamed like untouched snow, not a trace of blood left behind. My reflection stared back at me faintly in the marble, but all I could see was Enzo's face when he looked at me last night—the horror, the grief, the way his voice broke when he said you killed him.
