Inside a pompous bed chamber, where the scent of almonds hung in the musky air.
It was already late in the night.
Moonlight seeped through the floor-to-ceiling window, painting silvery lines across the rumpled silk sheets. The moon was unusually bright tonight, rendering the chandeliers and lamps unnecessary, which made the chamber drenched in a deep, comfortable gloom.
Its corners pooled with soft, inviting shadow.
Being in darkness was particularly more comfortable after such a tiring day.
Young Master Callen lay still on the bed; his back was against the headboard, and one hand on the back of his head. His breathing was slightly elevated, like he had been doing something taxing. In his hand was a smoking pipe.
His face was flushed red, and his eyes were half-lidded, as if it was hard for him to keep them open.
On the table beside the bed were two glasses and a bottle of wine.
It was the remnants of what happened earlier.
Slurp…
