Morning arrived gently, filtering through windows and the hush of early hours. Lucrezia woke to the quiet creak of the cottage settling, and to birdsong drifting faintly through an open window.
For a moment, she did not move. She lay still, suspended between sleep and waking, half-expecting the weight of the forest to press down on her chest. But it did not, as usual.
Instead, there was the bed beneath her, soft linen against her palms, and the lingering warmth wrapped around her feet. The ache was there, dull and persistent, but no longer screamed. Thankfully, it was better than before, and she was able to move around without feeling the ache, or soreness in her muscles.
Two weeks have passed since the encounter in the forest. Two weeks since she last felt the bite of the weather, nor the chill that followed. Two weeks have passed since she received any letters from King Vladimir to inform her of the well-being of her mother, as agreed. Two weeks since she last saw… him.
