The boisterous energy of the banquet had been completely washed away by the night.
Velin had arranged for his guests to stay in the newly cleaned guest rooms on the second floor of the Lord's Mansion.
Garris walked on the creaking wooden floors, his brow furrowed in clear displeasure.
The air smelled of damp wood and freshly applied tung oil. It wasn't unpleasant, but it carried a lingering cheapness that constantly grated on his sensitive nerves.
When he opened the door to his room, his deputy was already inside, meticulously wiping the furnishings with a clean linen cloth.
Garris merely glanced at him without a word. He pulled a snow-white silk handkerchief from his own pocket and slowly, carefully, wiped over the very spot his deputy had just cleaned.
The action made the deputy, who was standing bowed to the side, freeze instantly. Cold sweat silently soaked through his undershirt.
