The Grand Duchess staggered through the edge of Kyle's village, barely upright as her legs threatened to give way beneath her.
Her once-pristine cloak was torn, blood dried across the hem, and her hair hung loose from its usual meticulous style.
Gritting her teeth, Amanda slapped her cheeks lightly to shake off the creeping numbness in her limbs. Now was not the time to collapse.
She needed to find Kyle.
Only he would understand the weight of what had happened—and only he could help her act swiftly enough to stop whatever danger those white-haired attackers heralded.
She weaved through the outer paths of the village, unnoticed by the civilians preparing for the day.
Though her body screamed at her to rest, her instincts screamed louder. There was something off.
A whisper of movement made her stop.
Amanda didn't hesitate.
She reached for her sword, her exhausted fingers wrapping around the hilt with reflexive familiarity.
