Kaelen sat on a plush chair by the window, the sunlight filtering through a cascade of shimmering, silk curtains. The room he occupied was as grand as one might expect from a castle of Solandris's stature. A gilded chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, its crystalline pendants were catching the light and scattering faint rainbows across the room.
A massive hearth in the corner crackled softly, the fire lending warmth to the otherwise cavernous space. Nearby, a writing desk carved from mahogany stood against the wall, its surface immaculate save for a single, unlit lamp. The bed, with its towering canopy and rich, velvet drapes, seemed fit for royalty—yet it was Thane who now occupied it, lying there with his arms behind his head, eyes fixed blankly on the ornate ceiling. His crimson gaze, usually so intense, seemed distant, almost hollow, as if the weight of recent events had drained the fight from him.
