Night had fallen hard across the mountains.
The wind outside howled faintly through Saelira's castle, threading its way through stone corridors and frost-kissed windowpanes, but the guest room was warm.
Soft lamplight glowed against the navy and silver tapestry-lined walls, casting long, flickering shadows that danced across the ceiling.
The bath had helped.
A little.
The water had been scalding, the tub spacious, the scented oils familiar. Malvoria had said nothing the entire time, just leaned against the curve of the tub while Elysia washed the ash and tension from her wife's shoulders with slow, steady hands.
They hadn't spoken because words would've broken something fragile in that silence. Elysia had simply kissed the top of Malvoria's head and let her lean.
