The stone-walled cell they’d given him was not a dungeon, but it felt like one. It was a monk’s spare chamber, austere and cold, meant for penitents. Aris paced its short length, his heart a frantic, bruised thing hammering against his ribs. The echoes of his own voice still rang in his ears, loud and damning in the holy silence.

“I am hopelessly in love with you.”