Chapter 8

Aurelia POV

Morning light filtered through the wooden shutters of Talia’s cottage, cutting thin golden lines across the low ceiling. The room smelled of dried chamomile, pine resin, and faint mountain rain.

I stirred, my limbs heavy with exhaustion, but the instinctual panic that usually clawed at my chest was strangely muted.

Thirty days.

The number echoed in my head with every slow, steady beat of my heart. Thirty days of forced neutrality. Thirty days where Draven was legally bound to the southern buffer line, barred by the Council’s injunction from reaching across the river. It wasn’t a permanent victory, but it was a reprieve—a fragile window of absolute freedom.

Someone was standing near the foot of the narrow bed.

My eyes snapped open. My body reacted out of habit—I lurched upright, twisting to throw my feet over the edge, but my head spun violently. The room tilted, the coarse wool blanket wrapping tightly around my ankles. I stumbl