Elis sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly out the window. Her gaze rested on the colourless stretch of winter beyond the glass, bare branches etched against a dull sky, lifeless and unmoving.
Behind her, the sounds of Kiev's movements filled the chamber; the scrape of wood when drawers were pulled open, and the dull thud of clothing being shoved into travelling trunks. Yet none of it seemed to reach her.
The Mederian Prince wasted no time preparing for their departure. His decision had been made, and now there was only one thing left—to leave this mansion, and Cassian itself, as quickly as possible.
Clothes were gathered without care and pushed into trunks along with the items he had brought or acquired during his stay.
Usually, Kiev would be neat, with every fold deliberate, and every belonging placed with order befitting a prince brought up in discipline.
