The Citadel did not celebrate victory.
There were no songs in the halls, no laughter carried by the morning breeze, no careless relief in the aftermath of battle. Instead, there was silence, thick and deliberate, settling into stone and bone alike. The kind of quiet that came only after something irrevocable had been done.
Aria felt it the moment she woke.
Not the warmth of Damien beside her, though his presence was still there, solid and grounding, an unspoken promise pressed into her spine. Not the lingering ache of power humming beneath her skin, though her magic had not truly rested since the night before.
It was the weight.
Heavy. Constant. Settled into her chest like a second heart.
The Queen's heart.
She rose carefully, slipping from the bed without waking Damien. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, pale and deceptive, painting the chamber in soft gold as if the world had not burned only hours earlier.
But she knew better.
