The corridor seemed to stretch on forever, a winding artery of painted stone and vaulted arches that felt narrower with every step she took.
Eris moved through the high halls of the palace, her gait erratic, her slippers striking the marble in a sharp, hurried cadence that her recovering frame could barely sustain.
Her body was not ready for this.
Only a day had passed since her consciousness had clawed its way back from the dark, and the weight of the triplets she carried pressed heavily against her spine.
They were silent inside her now, unsettled by the sudden, frantic pace of her blood.
Her lungs burned with every breath she drew, but she did not slow down.
She dragged her exhausted, recovering body forward through pure, unyielding stubbornness.
Behind her, footsteps hurried over the stone.
"Your Imperial Majesty! Please!" Cecily's voice was high, frantic, breaking with tears as the young lady-in-waiting tried desperately to keep pace.
