Page 13 of Tears for a Broken Sky
I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. But lately, it felt like I didn’t know hownotto.
I wasn’t stupid or blind. I knew they were trying—every single one of them.
Trying to be patient. To make space. To help.
And it was frustrating the hell out of me.
Even thinking that, I knew the truth. They weren’t the problem.
Iwas. That’s all I’d ever been.
So why were they still trying so hard to manage me?
The idea of the ball made my skin crawl. I didn’t want to be the centre of attention.
I didn’t want to be admired or coddled or dressed up like something precious.
I just wanted to beleft alone.
I could already hear the rising hum of music and voices, the clink of crystal drifting all the way to my room.
Small party, my ass.
Slade had been shadowing me all day. I knew he—or one of the others—would come for me soon. I couldn’t go anywhere in this castle without one of them trailing me.
They meant well. I knew that.
But I still didn’t understandwhythey cared so much.
They kept looking at me with that same expression—one I couldn’t quite name.
Pity, maybe. Hope. Something I didn’t trust.
I hated seeing it.
I wasn’t some long-lost heir they’d recovered intact. I wasn’t some symbol of rebirth or prophecy fulfilled.
I was just me… I was surviving. Quietly. Barely.
Most days, it still felt like I was dragging the broken pieces of myself behind me, pretending they still made a whole.
I stepped out of my room, finding the hallway empty. I knew which way to go, but I needed to breathe. I needed a moment before they imposed on me. So I turned the other way.
I wasn’t sure where I was going. Only that I needed to go.
I turned down a narrow hall—away from the music, away from the waiting.
The torches here burned lower, the shadows longer. This part of the castle was older, less polished. Less perfect. Like me.
I liked it more.
At the end of the corridor, the space opened into what must have once been a private lounge—wide and quiet, lined with tall bookshelves and thick stone archways.
Tapestries hung along the walls, faded in places, but still rich with colour—deep greens, aged golds.
I stopped in front of one.
A man sat on a throne—crowned and commanding—surrounded by subjects who knelt in reverence. Behind him, in towering glory, stood a hoard of dragons. But it wasn’t the crown or the people that held my gaze.
