Eleven

Kyra pulled down the purple blankets she’s been clutching hard until it was under her wobbling chin, trying hard not to cry again. She had been crying since she got to her room that morning after fleeing from the corridor at the mockery of the servants, and she was finding it a bit difficult to think straight.

If there was something Kyra did not want to hear about then it would be Tristan’s name. Hearing his name opened up wounds she was yet to heal from and made her remember so many things she didn't want to.

Things like how she opened her heart to him because they were fated mates only to have it crushed into dust when he told her that he just wanted to use her to get to her father. She wished she’d had someone to talk to her, but her father did not care about her enough for her to go to him to talk about it.

Kyra was right to not go to him because what did he do when he found out? He got angry and sold her off.

She shouldn’t have stepped out of this room this morning too. She shoul