I opened my eyes to the sterile white ceiling of my hospital room, the antiseptic smell burning my nostrils. My body ached, but not from the poison that had nearly killed me. This pain ran deeper, lodging in my chest where my heart used to be.
From my bed, I had a clear view into the adjacent room. The door stood partially open, framing a scene that tortured me more effectively than any physical wound could.
Aurelia sat at Tristan's bedside, her chestnut hair falling forward as she leaned in to feed him. Her emerald eyes were soft with concern as she held a spoon to his lips. The container beside her was painfully familiar—the same one she'd used for my meals when I was ill years ago, before I destroyed everything between us.
"How are you feeling today?" Her gentle voice drifted across the hall.
"Better now," Tristan replied, his eyes never leaving her face. "Your healing stew works miracles."
