CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

ALARIC’S POV

I knew something was wrong the moment I stepped into her chambers.

The air felt cold, not the quiet, comforting cold of stone walls at night, but the kind that creeps into your chest and refuses to leave. The candles were lit too brightly. Her curtains were drawn back as though she wanted the whole world to witness whatever madness was about to unfold.

She stood by the table, a goblet of wine in her hand, her posture rigid and proud. When she turned and saw ...