The dim light of the afternoon sun barely reached the corners of the chamber, its amber glow softened by the heavy curtains that hung over the tall windows.
A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls, while the rich scent of lavender and tea lingered in the air. Ravenor stood in the doorway, leaned against the doorframe as he slid his hands in the pockets of his pants. His presence seemed like a dark silhouette against the warmth of the room.
Velene lay stretched out on a plush chaise lounge, a thick book held loosely in her hands. Her once regal appearance had been softened by the toll of recent event—her skin, pale and slightly mottled from the poison she had endured, looked fragile in the dim light. Her dark hair, once thick and glossy, now hung limply over her shoulders, dry and brittle. A shadow of exhaustion marred her usual graceful demeanor. Although the healer had managed to save her in time, the poison had left its mark.
