The heavy oak doors of the chamber clicked open.
Soren stood on the threshold.
He was already fully dressed, wearing his dark, high-collared imperial coat trimmed with silver wolf fur.
He looked entirely composed, his blonde hair neatly swept back, his posture commanding and rigid.
Yet to anyone who knew him, the subtle signs of his exhaustion were visible, the slight strain around his blue eyes, the tight, white line of his jaw, the restless way his fingers twitched against his side.
His gaze swept the room, ignoring the grand furnishings, ignoring the silver comb in Mira's hand, locking instantly onto Eris.
Always her.
He took in her stillness, the white wool gown that stripped her of her royal armor, the quiet, unyielding way she held her shoulders.
He saw the faint shadow behind her amber eyes—the fear she was hiding from the world.
"Are you ready?" he asked. His voice was deep, steady, carrying a low, soothing resonance that filled the quiet room.
