Mira's Shame

The carriage ride from the palace to the Norse estate stretched on like a sentence passed in silence. Only the muffled rattle of wheels over uneven stone and the occasional hiss of wind through majestic trees lining the road disturbed the oppressive stillness.

Mira sat rigidly, her hands clenched in her lap, wrapped tightly in Peredur's cloak. But no fabric could shield her from the shame that burned through her skin like acid—raw, consuming, inescapable.

Percival and Peredur sat beside her, their faces grave, their silence louder than any words. Gideon had taken the other carriage with Lara and Asael, and even that knowledge gnawed at Mira's already fraying composure.

She didn't cry. She couldn't. Tears would only make her look weaker—and she knew better than to show weakness in front of her family.