(Rosaline POV)
Morning arrives quietly.
Not with light, but with stillness.
Snow presses softly against the tall glass windows of Arthur's chamber, muting the world beyond into something distant and pale, as though the entire capital has been wrapped in silence for the sake of what is to come.
I open my eyes before the attendants arrive.
Before Priscilla knocks.
Before the palace begins its relentless movement.
For a moment, I do not move.
I lie there, feeling the weight of my body against the bed, measuring it, testing it, understanding it the way one studies a battlefield before stepping forward.
The exhaustion has not vanished.
It lingers.
Deep.
Quiet.
Like embers beneath ash.
But it no longer consumes me.
And that—
That is enough.
I push myself upright.
Slowly.
Carefully.
My hand grips the edge of the mattress.
The world tilts.
Just slightly.
A reminder.
A warning.
I steady myself before it deepens.
"I am not falling again," I whisper under my breath.
