The thought was a bomb.
It detonated in her chest, the blast wave traveling outward through her body — her hands shaking, her knees buckling, her stomach dropping, her pussy clenching, her mind shattering.
Celestia. Her sister. Her elder sister. The woman who had saved her in the training yard. The woman who had taught her the sword. The woman whose belly she had touched, whose baby she had delivered, whose son she had raised.
Celestia had fucked her own nephew.
The word 'aunt' — the label that Evriana had worn like armor, the word that she had used to protect herself from her own desires, the word that meant 'this is wrong and you know it' — crumbled.
If Celestia had done it — Celestia, the eldest, the heir, the one whose authority was second only to the matriarch — then the word 'aunt' did not mean what Evriana thought it meant.
The wall was gone.
The excuse was gone.
The armor was gone.
