CHAPTER 124
The steam in the ensuite was thick enough to swallow the world, smelling of expensive sandalwood and the faint, lingering scent of bathing oil Isabella had poured into the bathtub.
She sat back in the clawfoot tub, the hot water lapping at her collarbones, finally feeling the chill of the morning begin to recede from her marrow.
Lucian had left nearly thirty minutes ago. He'd moved with a strange, stiff-backed haste, his eyes never quite meeting hers as he promised to return with a tray of food.
He had looked... haunted. Even through the 'Great King' mask he wore like a second skin, she had felt the edges of his tension.
"Training injury," she muttered to the tiled ceiling, trailing a loofah over her damp shoulder.
She didn't believe him for a heartbeat. Lucian was a Sovereign; she had never seen him train or even have a training session.
