A few days had passed, and the castle felt different.
It wasn't that anything looked changed—at least not on the surface. The same guards patrolled the halls.
The same golden light pooled through the upper windows in the afternoon. Malvoria's cloak still hung on its usual hook, and the scent of cedar and demonsteel still lingered faintly in the corridors.
But something in the rhythm of it all had shifted.
Maybe it was the weight of what Elysia carried now—quiet, hidden beneath silk and bone, small but undeniably present. Every day, her body whispered reminders.
A skipped meal made her lightheaded. Too much tea made her nauseous. And once, a maid walked past with a tray of smoked meat and she had to excuse herself before throwing up into a very expensive vase.
Still, she hadn't told Malvoria. Not yet.
Because Malvoria's birthday was in three days.
And Elysia wanted it to be perfect.
