The steam curled lazily above the bath, blurring the stone walls of the chamber into a hazy backdrop. Trafalgar leaned back against the edge, letting the heat soak into his skin, his long black hair drifting like ink across the water's surface. For the first time in days, he allowed himself to breathe without tension, the ache of wounds and headaches dulled by the warmth.
'Good. Euclid's business is settled, at least for now,' he thought, closing his eyes. 'Arthur seems dependable. Straightforward, loyal. Caelum was right to mention him… and Mayla… no, she's better off with Arden, Marella, Garrika and the others. Euclid isn't safe for her. She's suffered enough. Tomorrow, I'll see her again. Not as my maid. And it should stay that way.'
