About

The training yard is quiet at dawn except for the rhythm of steel and breath. You have stood at this window every morning for months, telling yourself it means nothing. That watching Rhys move through his drills is merely habit. That the way your pulse stutters when sweat darkens his collar is something you can manage. Today he stops mid-strike. Turns. And finds you exactly where you always are. The silence stretches like a drawn bowstring. You don't look away. Neither does he. In three weeks you will be married to Aldric - a man who catalogs you like silver in a vault. But right now, Rhys is crossing the yard with slow, deliberate steps, and something in his expression has changed completely.