Zevryn entered his chamber once his duties were finally done. The weight of the day clung to his shoulders like invisible armor.
His attendants had already prepared the bath, steam curling gently above the wide marble tub carved with faint silver runes.
He removed his robe with deliberate slowness, his movements unhurried yet exhausted. He let out a quite sigh as he stepped into the warm water.
The heat enveloped him instantly, loosening the tension in his back. He sank deeper until the water reached his chest, tilting his head back against the cool rim of the tub.
For a long moment, he simply sat there, his eyes half-closed, breathing in the faint scent of lavender oil that the attendants had poured into the water.
"Why are you so restless these days, Zeyrak?" he murmured softly, his voice echoing faintly against the marble walls. His words carried both irritation and weariness, as if addressing a stubborn child who refused to listen.
