Liam slipped his hand along the curve of Citra's waist, drawing her closer in the quiet of their chambers. The scent of night-blooming flowers drifted through the open window, but his focus stayed on her troubled expression. She had gone still the moment he mentioned Ellara's name.
"Tell me about her," he said softly.
Citra's brow furrowed, a shadow crossing her elegant features. She let out a slow breath. "Ellara… she was the queen of the dark elves. A past queen now. After we white elves won the civil war, their kingdom fell. She had nowhere left to go. She's been on the run ever since, hiding from us."
Liam watched the way her fingers tightened on his sleeve. 'She carries more guilt than she lets on,' he thought. The weight of ruling, of old wounds between their peoples—it pressed on her even now.
