The corridors leading back to the royal wing were quieter now.
Guards posted at intervals kept their hands folded neatly over polished armor. Courtiers whispered without glancing his way. None dared stop him.
Seraphine walked a pace behind.
Her silence wasn't hesitant.
It was respect.
By the time they reached the private wing of the palace, the moon was rising past the high arches of the central courtyard. Its light spilled through the latticed windows, washing the walls in pale blue and silver.
Two guards flanked the doors to the king's inner chamber.
They stepped aside the moment Lindarion stopped before them.
Seraphine stayed back.
He pushed the door open himself.
—
Eldrin was not asleep.
He stood near the edge of a long desk at the far end of the chamber, one hand resting against a scroll, the other cupped near his chin.
A single candle flickered beside a basin of cooling water. Papers lay across the table in perfect, deliberate stacks.
He didn't look up.
