The night had thinned into glass.
Moonlight poured through the curtains like melted silver, slipping across tangled sheets and the outline of two bodies entwined in quiet exhaustion.
The storm that had raged in the hall hours before—blood, rage, judgment—was now nothing more than a memory painted in soft, sleeping breath.
Aiden stirred first. His eyes opened slowly, golden irises catching the dim glow as though reflecting embers beneath ash.
For a long while, he did not move. He simply watched her.
Lady Flora D. Leonidus—daughter of Augustus and Catherine, heir to the golden lion—slept as though the gods had finally granted her peace. The fury that had blazed through her earlier, sharp enough to silence lords and barons alike, was gone now.
Her face, bare of wrath, looked almost fragile. Strands of sunlit hair lay scattered across the pillow, her lips parted slightly in a soft rhythm of sleep.
