I didn't just walk back down that hallway; I marched. Every step against the cold stone floor felt like a drumbeat of a new, terrifying autonomy. I wasn't just some helpless duchess waiting to be rescued or discarded by an ancient parasite. I had dragon blood humming in my veins. I had proof, I had leverage, and by the gods, I was going to prove to him—and to myself—that I would never be useless again.
I hauled myself back up the spiral stairwell, the heavy leather-bound journal clutched tightly against my ribs like a shield. When I reached the heavy oak doors of the master bedchamber, I didn't bother waiting for an invitation. I shoved the door open with my hip and strode right in, ready to hurl my revelation across the room.
