"Then, I'll take my leave, Your Majesty." Silas bowed deeply before turning and walking out of the Queen's chamber.
The eyes that once looked at her with warmth were now as cold as ice.
[If I have to look at her face any longer, I might just vomit.]
The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Primrose's knees gave out, and she collapsed onto the floor. A crushing weight settled on her chest, making it hard to breathe, stealing the words from her lips.
Silas had been her only light in the darkness, the one source of comfort among the thorns.
But that light had been nothing more than a facade, hidden beneath layers of lies. The warmth she once felt wasn't kindness, it was the searing heat of anger and hatred.
Silas despised the beasts. More than anything, he despised her, the woman who had walked into their den as a peace offering between two races.
