Three days before the bonding ceremony, Seren could not sleep.
Not from nerves; not entirely. The weight of the past months pressed down on her like the winter snows that had finally begun to melt. Vesper was exiled. Thorne was dead. The north was healing. The charter was law. And in three days, she would walk into the sacred grove and marry three princes.
But tonight, she lay awake in her chambers, staring at the ceiling. Three rings glittered on her finger, catching the firelight. Kael's silver. Theron's white gold. Aeron's black steel.
A soft knock came at the door.
Seren sat up. "Come in."
Lysa entered, carrying a large bundle wrapped in brown cloth. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright, smudged with fatigue. She looked like she had been crying—or perhaps she had been sewing. Her fingers were covered in small bandages, and there was a thread caught in her hair.
"You should be asleep," Seren said.
