The palace has a way of turning silence into accusation. By midday, the corridors were alive with the usual sounds: heels clicking on marble, servants murmuring apologies as they carried trays, distant laughter from some noble gathering that felt miles away from my reality. But beneath all that, there was a heavier quiet, the kind that settles when people are watching you and pretending they are not. I felt their eyes on my back as I walked toward the training grounds. I had not bothered with shoes again. The stone floors were cool, grounding. I needed grounding today more than ever.
Blake had left my chambers an hour earlier, kissing me once, hard, before slipping out like a man who had stolen something and was still deciding whether to keep it. His scent lingered on my skin, spice and leather mixed with the honey-rain-wildflower that was mine. I did not wash it away. Let the nobles smell it. Let them choke on the evidence that I was not theirs to control.
