The afternoon sun poured through the reinforced glass panes of the conservatory, turning the lush ferns and exotic blooms into a riot of vibrant greens and deep purples. Amara sat in an oversized wicker chair, a heavy leather-bound volume on her lap. She had been reading about the Great Houses, trying to memorize the lineages so she wouldn't embarrass Darien, but her mind kept drifting to the heavy, restless energy she felt vibrating through the estate.
The servants were moving faster, their footsteps echoing with a frantic purpose. The guards were polishing their plate until it gleamed like mirrors.
A shadow fell across her pages, blocking out the warmth of the sun. Amara didn't need to look up to know who it was.
"You've been staring at that same page for twenty minutes, Amara," Darien said softly. He was leaning against a stone pillar, his sleeves rolled up to reveal the powerful muscles of his forearms.
