Seraphina only stopped trembling after she closed the balcony door behind her.
The word "okay" had come out perfectly. She had been practicing it since dawn at the Sky Pier, between deep breaths and an uptilted chin, and she had even felt a surge of pride when her voice didn't crack. But her knees only gave out now, in the warm corridor of the castle, far from prying eyes. She leaned against the stone wall, closed her eyes, and counted to ten—just as Zarkhan had taught her whenever she nearly lost control of her transformation.
Nine. Ten. She didn't burn anything down. That was progress.
Aurelia found her the next morning at the threshold of the grand kitchen. Seraphina was still wearing Roland's blue coat, having promised not to return it until its owner came home. The older woman stood there with an apron tied around her waist, a wooden spoon in one hand, and a smile far too bright for such an early hour.
