Crimson Petals of the Impaler : Book 2

Previously

…With trembling fingers, she took the pouch. Inside, nestled on a bed of faded velvet, lay a single, perfectly preserved crimson rose petal. It was impossibly vibrant, its color as deep and rich as the blood that had stained the Prince’s battlefield. Beneath it, etched onto a thin sliver of bone, were two words: “My Amalie.” Tears welled in her eyes, not of sorrow this time, but of a profound, aching gratitude. His love, it seemed, had found a way to endure, a silent promise whispered across the veil of death. The crimson petal was a tangible echo of his fierce, unyielding devotion, a reminder that even in absence, she was not truly alone.