In the servant's quarters, Beowulf laid on his bed with one hand behind and his head and his stomach in knots. If Salome had complained about his dark circles before, then he didn't know what she'd say now. If he'd had two hours sleep at a stretch since he got here, then that would be generous. It's been tedious always looking behind his shoulders and listening to his environment constantly.
The night breeze blew into the large room and it sent chills through the lot of them. But Beowulf laid in his corner with just his trousers on, bare-chested. His brows were creased.
Earlier that evening, after Esme had brought him dinner and left, he'd sensed a presence just outside the servant's quarters and hid quickly. But immediately he moved, he couldn't sense it anymore. It was as if the person had come and disappeared the next minute.
"Tsk."
