It was calm as much as it was chaotic. Levan had not heard the council at first.
Their voices were little more than a dull hum against the stone walls, a distant chorus that barely reached him as he sat at the head of the long obsidian table. His hands were folded before him, jaw set in its usual calm line, but his mind was far from the council chamber.
It lingered where it always drifted now… on her.
He thought about the way Ilaria had looked at him the night before, tired but trying to smile; frightened but refusing to say why. He thought of the soft quiver in her voice when she asked, "Can I sleep in your room?" He thought of the weight of her head against his shoulder back in the tent, of how she seemed so content to be with him despite the circumstances.
