Morning sunlight spilled through the windows.
Silas had slept.
Technically.
Whether the experience qualified as rest remained debatable.
The room was quiet.
Far too quiet.
He sat alone before the open balcony doors, watching the shadows retreat from the courtyards below as the morning sun claimed the castle.
Normally, silence had never bothered him. He had spent years cultivating alone, training alone, carrying responsibilities alone.
Today, however, the silence felt oppressive.
The morning air drifting through the open window carried the scent of warming stone and distant fire.
His gaze rested on the brightening horizon beyond the railing.
He should have been pleased. Objectively speaking, nothing had gone wrong.
Mirabelle had accepted him. She had chosen him as one of her mates. The future he wanted still existed.
And yet...
His jaw tightened.
The shadows beneath his chair darkened. A thin tendril appeared from nowhere and wrapped around one of the chair legs.
