As Alec stormed out of the dimly lit dungeon cell, his heavy footsteps echoed through the narrow, stone corridor. The air was thick with the musty scent of age, and tiny motes of dust danced in the faint beams of light that filtered through the narrow slits in the walls.
Noelle, left alone in her confinement, couldn't help but let out a sigh, a whisper of despair that hung in the damp, oppressive atmosphere. The torches lining the corridor flickered ominously, casting elongated, shifting shadows that made the silence even more profound.
The events of the past hours had been nothing short of a nightmare. She had feared the king's rage, but at least he had spared her from harm this time.
Still, his refusal to believe her, to accept the incredible resemblance between her and Evardin's late queen, left her deeply disappointed. She could hardly see her own reflection in the dimly lit cell, and she yearned to know the truth about the woman she resembled.
