Lily winced as she pushed herself up from the bed. Her body still ached from the lashing she’d received days ago, but she couldn’t stand another moment of lying around doing nothing. The sun streamed through the window of her new room—the one adjacent to Zayn’s—reminding her that the day was already half gone.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Martha rushed over, her weathered face creased with concern. “You need more rest, child.”
“Martha’s right,” Talia said, entering the room with fresh bandages. “Those wounds need more time to heal.”
Lily shook her head firmly. The title of Luna had been thrust upon her, and she refused to be useless. She made quick hand gestures, explaining that she felt well enough to get up.
“You’re as stubborn as they come,” Martha sighed, helping Lily into a simple blue dress. “Your body heals slower than others. You know this.”
