Isabella blinked at Kian, head tilting, her blonde hair spilling down one shoulder as the breeze played with the ends. "The moon?" she repeated, brows knitting together in confusion. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The field stretched out before him, alive in ways the stone walls of the palace never were. Grass rippled like a restless sea under the wind's push, each wave catching the gold of the sun.
Birds hopped in the distance, pecking at the soil before darting off, their wings cutting sharp arcs through the air. From where he sat, Kian could even hear the faint chatter of women gathering farther off, their voices a mix of laughter and secrets carried thinly by the breeze.
The world here was soft, restless, alive—and for a moment, it felt like it was moving only around Isabella.
