The night cloaked me as I slipped through the servants' entrance, praying no one would see me in this state. My once fine dress was now filthy, torn at the hem from my hasty escape from Alaric's estate. I could still feel the grime of that cell clinging to my skin, a humiliating reminder of how far I had fallen.
Freedom had never tasted so bitter.
I headed straight for Lysander's study, knowing exactly what I needed. The cabinet wasn't locked—why would it be? No one in this house had ever dared to question him. I pulled out his finest bottle of wine, not bothering with a glass. Tonight called for something stronger than propriety.
The liquid burned my throat as I took a long swallow directly from the bottle. My hands trembled slightly, but whether from anger or exhaustion, I couldn't tell anymore. Weeks in that prison cell, and not once had my husband attempted to secure my release. Not once had he fought for me.
