Avond laid back on his bed and felt the fatigue in his body pulling him into sleep. But it was not the blissful, forgetful sleep he was accustomed to—the kind that took his worries away.
It was the kind that refused to let him fall completely.
Asleep but not dreaming, still aware of his surroundings. Partially aware of the passage of time.
All the while, his heart ached. Just as the city he once ruled with an iron fist had started to lose control—like sand slipping through his fingers—he now felt as if he were losing control over his own emotions and heart.
He knew he was a passionate individual.
It wasn't as though he had never loved before.
He had loved a handful of times in his short life, yet all of them had walked away at the first sign of danger, which was wise, of course.
But he had grieved every one of them.
Each time, he had thought they would stay by his side.
Be the queen of his underworld.
But that dream had always shattered.
