"Very well." This time, Caelith answered without hesitation.
The ease of her consent brought a visible lift to Rhaegar's mood. A faint smile curved his lips as he turned toward the window. With effortless grace, he stepped onto the sill and, in a single fluid motion, vaulted out into the night—his figure vanishing like a shadow swallowed by darkness.
Caelith remained where she stood, her gaze lowering to the hairpin in her hand.
After a moment, she lifted it and secured it within her coiffure.
From this night onward, this would no longer be an ornament, but her loyal blade, her safeguard, her silent companion against the unseen dangers that surrounded her.
Somehow, she knew there would come a day when she'd be forced to use it.
...
Sleep did not come easily.
Through the long hours of the night, her thoughts drifted restlessly, tangled between fear, calculation, and something far more dangerous—something she dared not name.
