ELIAS'S POV
I had always believed myself careful.
Measured. Calculating. A prince raised on consequence and foresight did not act without weighing the cost. And yet, every time I closed my eyes, I saw her fall again—Seraphina's body crumpling, the color draining from her face as if winter itself had claimed her.
Four days.
Four days she lay unconscious because I had let her step forward.
Because I had wanted to see her shine.
I sat alone in my study, the late afternoon light slanting through tall windows and pooling across the desk where reports lay untouched. Ink had dried in the well. My hand hovered uselessly above parchment, pen unmoving.
I had known.
That truth pressed heavier than any crown.
I had seen the noble's posture tighten. Had noticed the twitch of his wrist, the way his sleeve shifted unnaturally. I had known he was about to act. And I had thought—briefly, foolishly—that Seraphina would enjoy stopping him.
