Morning light crept across the walls of the estate by the time Morena finally decided to head to her father's chambers. She'd told herself for days now that she would, but every time there had been another excuse—plans, training, and so on.
Excuses were easy. But after last night's gathering, she knew she couldn't keep putting it off.
The servants bowed when she passed, whispering faintly after she was gone. She didn't care to pay attention to them anymore; they would never stop after all, the only difference was the topic.
Her father's door was open when she arrived. The smell of herbs and smoke hung in the air. Inside, the fire was kept high to chase away the chill, and near the window, in a chair rather than the bed, her father sat.
A blanket was drawn across his legs, a half-empty cup of tea at his side. His hair had grown streaked with white, but his eyes were the same sharp steel she remembered.
