The carriage wheels rattled over the uneven road leading back to the palace, each brutal jolt sending a fresh wave of nausea twisting through Nheera's body. She sat rigidly beside Hairan, her back perfectly straight despite the agony threatening to consume her. Her hands rested tightly clasped in her lap, fingers trembling faintly no matter how hard she tried to still them.
The image of Azul's ruined face refused to leave her mind. Every time she blinked, she saw him again. Blood everywhere. The soiled sheets. His throat torn open.
She kept her gaze fixed on the small carriage window, watching the blurred silhouettes of buildings slide past beneath the gray morning light without truly seeing any of them. The city moved around her as though nothing had happened, as though the world had not just ripped her son away from her.
Every breath felt painful, like tiny needles piercing deep into her lungs.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
It was the only thing keeping her together.
