The lamps had been dimmed hours ago.
Only the glow from the chandelier, amber and ruby glass, throwing soft reflections over the gilded trim, remained. The air was still, touched faintly by the scent of tea and the last traces of sandalwood from the evening fire.
Chris had fallen asleep where he'd been reading earlier, half-curled on one of the couches that lined the window alcove. The patterned cushions had swallowed him whole, color and quiet, until he looked more like part of the room than a person in it.
Outside, the night stretched deep over the palace terraces. Somewhere below, the sound of the city had softened to a hush.
When Dax finally entered, he didn't speak. The door closed behind him with a soft click. He'd come straight from council, with no security nor attendants, just exhaustion trailing behind him like a shadow.
