CALLISTA'S POV

The cold from the stone floor had long sunk into my knees, but I didn't move from my position. It seemed as though those knee caps weren't there anymore, the hurt stinging every part of my leg that wasn't exposed to the cold.

My fingers were covered in soot, the edges of my robe still warm and reeking of smoke from the clothes I burned, Penelope's gifts.

On my way down here, I'd overheard the servant who brought the clothes to my room being questioned by my father on the ...