The silence that followed was a weapon.
After the bodies had been dragged away by a grim-faced Ceryne and two terrified stable hands, a new kind of prison descended. Auren no longer visited. He sent Ceryne with her meals, a silent messenger whose sharp, knowing eyes were a constant, unnerving presence.
The house, once a gilded cage, now felt like a tomb.
Arin sat on the edge of her bed, the ghost of a kiss burned into her lips. The regret was a bitter, coppery taste in her mouth, worse than the blood had been. She had taken his kindness, his conflicted honor, and thrown it back in his face, stained with her grief for another man. A dead man.
She had been a fool. A cruel, selfish fool.
And now, she was truly alone.
