It wasn't possible.
In a world where nothing had gone right for nine long months, where every hope had been snuffed out like a candle pinched between cruel fingers, it simply wasn't possible that Ashlynn Blackwell was standing in the Great Hall of Lothian Manor.
Yet here she was, standing not twelve paces from the dais, wearing a cavalier hat and a sailor's coat with a sword at her hip as if she'd stepped out of one of their father's stories about the great captains of old.
She looked… different than before. Strong and fearless with her head held high and an emerald gaze that refused to look away from the danger in front of her, even if that danger came from the man who had 'killed' her just nine months ago.
She looked like she'd become the hero Jocelynn had once thought Owain was.
