Alaric returned to the dining hall, his steps echoing through the vast, now-silent chamber. The remnants of their celebratory feast lay scattered across the table, a testament to the evening's revelry. His gaze swept over the room, lingering on the sleeping form of his Aunt Cassandra. Her long blonde hair cascaded down her back like a golden waterfall, shimmering in the soft glow of the dying embers in the hearth. She was a vision, even in her unconscious state, her beauty undeniable.
He approached her, his footsteps softening as he neared. Her head rested on her folded arms, her breaths deep and even. The gentle rise and fall of her chest drew his attention, and he found his gaze lingering on the swell of her breasts, barely contained by the low-cut neckline of her gown. A wave of desire washed over him, and he licked his lips, his heart pounding in his chest.
