Two days after Derek left for the Lycan Kings' Summit, Kira finally admitted to herself that she was miserable.
The palace was too big without him in it. That was the strange thing. Dravengard had always been enormous, all those halls and staircases and echoing rooms, but somehow it had never felt empty before. Now it did.
Nana was here, her mother was here, Connor, the servants, the whole busy hum of the household. And still the place felt like a house with the lights off.
She found herself in his private study as the sun was beginning to settle, without quite deciding to go there.
It smelled of him— that familiar citrus scent that always made her feel safe, and the faint ghost of whiskey. She trailed a hand along the back of his chair, and the ache in her chest twisted into something she could no longer pretend was indigestion.
She sank onto the sofa and looked around the study and let out a heavy sigh. Absence, they say makes the heart grow fonder.
