The heavy oak doors of the King's solar swung open without a sound, the oiled hinges yielding silently to Aurelia's touch. At the far end of the room, Valerian snapped his head up from the parchment spread across his desk, his silver-ringed hand instinctively dropping toward the dagger resting beside his inkwell to see who dared interrupt his solitude at such an ungodly hour.
The moment he saw Aurelia step across the threshold, the razor-sharp tension in his broad shoulders melted into a profound, quiet relief.
"You are back late from your evening errands, my love," Valerian said, his deep voice carrying that soft, resonant cadence reserved strictly for her ears. He walked around the edge of his oak desk, his storm-gray eyes scanning her face with warm, unabashed affection.
"I assumed you had finished visiting my mother and retired straight to the Queen's Wing... especially since you seem so determined to avoid my touch tonight."
