The palace of Verathia was cloaked in an unnatural silence, the kind that seeped into every corner and shadow. It was the kind of quiet that heralded storms—dangerous, unrelenting storms—and Elara felt as though she was at the very center of it.
Since her unspoken decision to distance herself from Alistair, she had become acutely aware of his every move. His possessive nature had intensified, and with it, his need to know her every thought, every breath. There was no longer a sense of freedom in their interactions; only the heavy chains of his devotion, binding her to him.
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