The cold air of the dimly lit tower seemed to cling to Jessamyn's skin as Lady Celena raised her sword, the gleaming edge catching the faint flicker of candlelight. Jessamyn stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest.
The gravity of the moment hit her like a wave, but it wasn't fear for herself that gripped her—it was the thought of leaving her unborn son to these two twisted, vengeful women. She knew they would raise him in a world of bitterness, molding him into a weapon, and that thought shattered her resolve.
"Your son will survive without you, won't he?" Lady Celena's lips curved into a dangerous smile, the malice in her voice thick and chilling.
