The warmth radiating from the little iron stove inside the tent felt almost cruel. Because the cold Greta felt wasn't from the air, it was clawing up from inside her own chest. Wrapped in thick, plush blankets, her body was safe. But her mind? Her mind was dancing on the edge of a cliff, teetering over a pit of dread.
Matthias had cracked open Pandora's box. Now she knew, Dietrich Maximillian loved her. But knowing didn't help. Her thoughts kept circling back to the memories, refusing to make peace with the man who'd carved those scars into her.
Everything she remembered about the palace, about him, felt like glass shards buried in flesh. Always stabbing inward. Always hurting. No matter how much she bled or screamed, the pain never stopped.
She shut her eyes, hoping exhaustion would drag her into sleep. But rest didn't come. What came instead was a flood of memories, filtered through trauma that refused to loosen its grip.
