The fire had been burning for some time.
Circe sat before it, her hands on her lap as she stared at the flames. The room was warm.
She had not wanted to think about Mirelle.
She had told herself not to on the walk back from the dungeons, and again when she had changed out of her clothes, and again when she had lowered herself into the chair and drawn her feet up beneath her. She had said it to herself like a command.
She had done what she went to the dungeons to do. She had said what needed to be said. There was no use in revisiting the memory over it again.
And yet.
You were so ready to spread your legs like a whore for the bastard prince.
The words played in her mind repeatedly and was now determined that she not forget a single syllable.
I did what I believed was necessary. Someone had to.
