[WARNING! Unedited! Don't buy!]
Morgana's fingers lingered at her mouth, teeth grazing her nail as irritation coiled tight beneath her skin. She hated patterns she could not predict. And lately, the world seemed determined to mock her with them.
First Vladimir.
Now Sol.
Two ancient bloodlords—creatures who had outlived kingdoms and gods—throwing their weight behind insignificant prey.
It was… insulting.
She turned sharply, black skirts whispering over the fractured marble. The ruined chamber still reeked of shadow and scorched stone. Valerius's absence was a wound in itself, one she did not appreciate.
"He allowed her a guard," Morgana muttered. "A Shadow Guard."
Her fingers curled slowly.
Sol was never generous. Every favor came shackled to a debt. That he would waste such a resource on a packless half-breed was… suspicious.
"Sentiment does not suit him," she said aloud. "Which means this is not sentiment."
