The warm morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of the royal chambers, scattering reddish reflections across the room still shrouded in disarray. Crumpled sheets, misplaced pillows, and discarded clothing bore witness to the recent chaos with a silent eloquence. On the immense bed, Kael lay on his back, breathing with the calm of someone who had finally found a few minutes of peace, something too rare to be underestimated. Beside him—or rather, partially on top of him—Eleanor rested with a satisfied expression, her red hair spread across her chest and shoulders like fire poured onto silk.
The Witch Queen seemed dangerously comfortable.
One arm was draped over his waist, one leg intertwined with hers, and the lazy smile on her lips suggested she considered herself victorious for reasons that existed only in her own mind. Her eyes remained closed, but Kael knew she was hardly truly asleep. Eleanor treated rest as another way to manipulate her surroundings.
