DAEMON'S POV
Even though the war lasted only for hours, the shadows it cast lasted for a much longer time, and dealing with them kept Daemon busy which was supposed to be good for forgetting a certain silver-white haired woman.
But it wasn't really. And the earlier he realized that there was never going to be a second of the day when he didn't think about her in one way or the other, the better it would be for him.
At the very least, he was thankful for the pile of work he had. While they weren't enough to make him forget her, they were still enormous enough to push thoughts of her to the rear.
So he turned to a work slave. Persuing through documents upon documents hour after hour. Giving orders of who to execute and who to not nonstop, and then when the thick of night dawned and silence wanted to grip him and hold him hostage, he would visit his underground prim soon and face his two new favourite playthings. Rowan and his Master.
