The soft, irritating shuffle of footsteps and the faint clinking of trays pulled Malvoria from the restless haze of half-sleep.
She groaned softly, burying her face deeper into the silk pillow as though the luxurious fabric could shield her from the inevitable intrusion.
It was too early.
But the incessant murmur of voices just beyond her door—and the familiar, far-too-cheerful tone of her mother—told her that resistance was futile.
Damn it all.
The events of last night still clung to her mind like smoke after a fire, impossible to dispel. She had barely slept, her thoughts ceaselessly circling around what the day would bring—what she would bring.
Elysia.
Her name alone sent a sharp pang through Malvoria's chest. She scowled into her pillow. How infuriating that someone so fragile-looking could have such an effect on her. She wasn't meant to care. This wasn't supposed to matter.
But it did. And she hated it.
The sharp knock at her door was both expected and unwelcome.
