It was Soren. Ophelia sat up, clutching the silks to her chest, surprised by the formal, respectful tone. "Your Majesty, of course."
Soren entered alone. He had left his guards at the end of the hall, a rare gesture of vulnerability and trust. He looked at her, and for a moment, the Emperor of the North vanished.
"Please, it's just Soren," he said gently, sitting in the velvet chair beside the bed. He maintained a respectful distance, his hands resting on his knees.
There was a long, heavy history between them. Years ago, before Eris had arrived like a wildfire, they had been a trio: Soren, Caelen, and Ophelia.
They had grown up in the shadow of courts and expectations, a friendship forged in the quiet corners of ballrooms and adventures outside the court room.
Before the romance had complicated the lines, before the marriage to Caelen had turned Ophelia into a rival of sorts to Eris, before all of that... they had been friends.
