The walk back to my room was a blur of shadows and silence. Sir Edric guided me through the labyrinthine passages, his presence a silent anchor in the darkness, but I registered none of it. My mind was still in the tower room, still suspended in the space between Kaelen's words and my stunned, speechless silence.
The door of my room closed behind me. Sir Edric's footsteps retreated down the corridor. I was alone.
I did not light a lamp. The darkness was a comfort, a cloak that wrapped around my shoulders and allowed me to simply exist without the weight of watching eyes. I moved to the window, my habitual place of contemplation, and looked out at the night-shrouded gardens below.
The Academy slept. Its corridors were empty, its debates silenced, and its wars paused until dawn. But within me, a different kind of war raged.
A fake engagement. A betrothal to the Duke of the North.
