had been. To not feel the cold sweat sliding
down her back and know no scars lay there,
either. Just Rowan’s tattoo, inked over smooth
skin.
As if this place were a dream—some
nightmare conjured by Maeve.
The irony wasn’t lost on her. She’d escaped
shackles twice now—only to wind up back
here. A temporary freedom. Borrowed time.
She’d left Goldryn in their tent. The sword
would be of little use where they were going.
“I never thought we’d see this place again,”
Dorian murmured. “Certainly not like this.”
None of the king’s steps faltered, his face
somber as he gripped Damaris’s hilt. Ready to
meet whatever awaited them.
The pain she knew was coming.
No, she had not ever really escaped at all,
had she?
They halted near the center of the dirt yard.
lily
(lily)
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