CASSANDRA’S POV:
.
.
“Are you alright? Tell me—are you still in pain? Your head, is it better now?”
As I pretended that I had just woken up, Cyprus bombarded me with a flurry of questions, his voice taut with urgency. The worry in his eyes was unspoken but heavy, pressing against me like a storm teetering on the edge of breaking.
I swallowed, keeping my expression carefully blank. “Why am I here? What happened?” My voice wavered just enough, feigning the confusion I needed them to believe.
I had to convince them. They couldn't know that I remembered everything. The flood of memories—Dylan, their whispered schemes—still burned at the edges of my mind. But I had to bury them, had to pretend I hadn’t heard a single word.
“Cyprus brought you here,” my mother—the Queen—interjected smooth
