Two days later:
The castle remained awake, but the realm remained quiet. Guards changed shifts without speaking.
The witches moved through the corridors with books pressed against their chests, and their voices lowered whenever they passed the healing chambers.
Prince Alaric remained unconscious. Or dead.
Nobody knew if he would wake. Nobody knew if the Dark Fae magic would loosen its grip on his heart.
Nobody knew anything.
Meanwhile, at another end of the castle, Aire lay completely still. The room around her was warm and dim.
Soft sunlight filtered through the curtains, leaving pale golden shapes across the bed.
She had barely moved in two days.
Her breathing remained slow and even. Her face had been almost completely drained of colour when she first returned.
Now, something had changed.
It was subtle.
So subtle that Nate almost convinced himself he had imagined it. He sat beside her bed, with one hand wrapped carefully around hers.
