She was alive. Probably. The dead don't usually wake up naked and freezing with a split lip and a headache that could kill a horse, but then again, she'd never died before, so who the hell knew.
Sunset was bleeding orange through the tower window, which meant she'd been out cold for a full day. She sat up slowly and winced, every muscle aching. The blanket fell to her waist and cold air hit her skin.
"Seriously. Why am I naked?"
The question was directed at the room. The room did not answer.
Her silk pajamas were shredded on the floor beside the bed. She had no memory of removing them or how she wound up in her bed. The last thing she remembered clearly was the stone floor of the throne room and the taste of her own blood.
She pulled the blanket tight, got vertical on trembling legs, and reached the bathing chamber through a sequence of stumbles.
The mirror told her she looked like hell. Lip split. Purple bruises on her face, shoulders, ribs, and one on her neck.
