In truth, she could not compare.
Her lineage fell short of Lady Tanmin's. Her strength, her freedom, even her place in the world—none could rival hers.
And more than all of that—she was Dorian's wife.
What right had she to stand beside him? What claim could she ever make?
None.
That night, Caelith lay awake upon her bed, turning restlessly beneath the covers.
She wanted to see Rhaegar.
To ask him—face to face—who it was he had risked his life to save.
And yet… she feared the answer.
Feared that it would be the one her heart could not bear.
Dolly entered quietly with tea, noticing at once the unrest in her mistress's expression.
"My lady… what troubles you? Since returning from the riding grounds, you have seemed uneasy."
Caelith shook her head faintly. "It is nothing. I am merely tired."
Dolly lingered, as though wishing to say more—but in the end, she withdrew in silence.
Left alone, Caelith stared upward at the canopy above her bed.
