35. Grey

Ginevra

The wedding's tomorrow.

I've been locked up in Alaric's home for two days. He has my foot chained to his bed, and my hands cuffed apart.

Why?

Because the moment I'd awoken to him trying to touch me, I fought like a cornered animal, desperate to rip him apart.

I'm only let out of the chains when I need to attend to my needs, and even then, on the first day, I tried more times than I can remember to jump through the window, after knocking out the guards he'd sent to watch me.

It had earned me being thrown into his room with windows too little for even my arm to go through, and shorter chains.

But that was a day ago, before he'd returned with the news of Sinclair's death.

I didn't want to believe him, until he'd dumped Sinclair's bloodied shirt in my bed as a souvenir. At first, I'd been consumed by hysteria and grief. I'd screamed for hours until I'd lost my voice, cursing my existence, making demands that he kill me so I could die as well.

I didn't think I cared enough,