I sat in the corner of my room, staring at the untouched tray of food. I hadn’t eaten in days, not that it mattered. Pierre’s servants had tried everything—begging, pleading, offering me all sorts of delicacies—but I refused every bite. I didn’t care if I starved. Maybe that would be the one thing I had control over.
There was a soft knock at the door, followed by muffled whispers outside. I ignored it, assuming it was another servant, another futile attempt to get me to eat. I wasn’t interested in playing along with their charade.
The door creaked open, and I glanced over, expecting the usual hesitant face. But when I saw who stepped into the room, my heart nearly stopped.
“Raphaella,” a familiar voice said softly.
I blinked, unsure if I was hallucinating. Standing in the doorway, dressed in simple but elegant clothing, was a figure I thought I’d never see again.
“Davina?” I whispered, my voice barely audible, as if saying her name too loudly might cause her to vanish. I scrambled to my feet, my heart racing. “How… how are you here? I thought—”