Rosamund.
I hadn't moved from the corner of the room since they'd locked the door yesterday.
I sat on the floor with my back against the wall, knees drawn to my chest, arms wrapped around them. The bed was three steps away, but I couldn't bring myself to lie in it. Lying down felt like surrender. Sitting here, upright and awake with my spine pressed against cold stone, felt like the only form of resistance I had left.
I knew I had run out of luck yesterday – the thing that endeared Nevan to me – the moment he'd told me to address him by his title. I wasn't well-versed in the ways of men, but I knew enough to recognise when you've fallen out of favour.
And yesterday, I had fallen hard. Nevan locking me in my room and posting guards at the door was not the action of a man exercising patience. It was the action of a man who was done.
