Nevan
I made it as far as the courtyard before my body betrayed me.
My vision blurred. My chest seized. I stumbled through the archway and into the walled garden, my hand finding the trunk of the old oak before my legs gave out. I leaned into it, forehead pressed against the bark, dragging in air that wouldn't come fast enough.
The black lines beneath my sleeves were burning.
"Nevan." Clyde's voice, somewhere behind me, called out. "Breathe. Slow down. In through your nose, out through your mouth."
I couldn't. The pressure in my chest was crushing, a knot tightening with every heartbeat. My hands were shaking so violently that the bark bit into my palms, and I didn't feel it. Everything I'd held together in that hall, every measured word, every controlled breath, every second of composure I'd performed in front of Rosamund was unravelling at once.
"Deep breaths, Nevan. You've done this before. Focus on my voice." Clyde called out again.
