The air in Caelen's chambers had transitioned from the heavy, metallic scent of ritual magic to the crisp, clean smell of antiseptic herbs and fresh linen. It was a space of recovery, quiet and sun-drenched.
Eris stood outside the door, adjusting the cuffs of her clothes. She shouldn't have been here. The healers were more than capable, and her own schedule was packed with the logistical nightmare of Vetra's upcoming trial.
But Rael had looked at her over breakfast with those wide, earnest eyes, eyes so much like the man inside, and asked if "Papa" was still hurting.
She couldn't refuse the boy. And so, under the guise of a professional follow-up, she entered.
Caelen was sitting up in bed, propped against a mountain of silk pillows. The deathly pallor had been replaced by a faint, healthy flush, and the bruised shadows under his eyes had begun to recede. He was reading a report, but he set it aside the moment she stepped in.
