Jack remained seated on the edge of the impossibly soft bed, staring at the young woman in front of her.
Lyra Moonwhisper moved with the fluid precision of flowing water, setting the tray on a marble table that probably cost more than most houses.
The scent that rose from the covered dishes made Jack's stomach clench with sudden, ravenous hunger. It was a rich, savory aroma that only master chefs could accomplish.
"You've been unconscious for nearly three days," she said. "The royal physicians were concerned about the damage from channeling divine power. Most mortals who attempt such feats either die instantly or spend the rest of their lives as drooling invalids."
Jack's hand instinctively went to his chest, where Draven's pendant lay hidden beneath the simple white robe.
The metal still felt warm against his skin, a constant reminder of the price he'd paid for power.
"Most mortals don't have a good reason to risk it." He said while staring out into space.
