Rage was a cold and quiet country, and for the past weeks, Elyra had made it her home.
The wild, hot fury of her confrontation with Auren had cooled, hardening into a glacier of pure, unyielding resolve. The love she felt for him was still there, a frozen, aching thing buried deep beneath the ice, but it was no longer her master. Duty, pain, and a lifetime of being the perfect, barren princess had forged her into something new. Something harder.
She had left their shared chambers, moving into a separate wing of the palace. They did not speak. They did not see each other. They were two warring kingdoms living under one roof, their silence a declaration of hostilities. She was no longer contemplating divorce. She was planning for it.
But the court was a cage, and her bars were forged of politics and ambition. Sirenyth's refusal to grant an annulment had been a masterful, cruel stroke, leaving Elyra trapped, a queen in name only, her power, her very future, held hostage by her rival.
