Anthea lay back against the pillows, her dark hair loose over her shoulders, her face pale but her eyes sharp. Every few breaths, she let her body tremble faintly, a performance honed from years of survival.

The guard still stood by her bed. He hadn’t moved since she woke, his posture stiff, his gaze flicking between her face and the floor as if unsure where to rest his eyes.

“You shouldn’t linger,” Anthea said softly, her voice rough from the weight of her false sobs. “If the King ...