The estate did not sleep that night.
It pretended to.
Candles were extinguished one by one. Servants lowered their gazes and moved more quietly than usual. Doors closed with careful hands instead of firm ones. But beneath the polished marble floors and carved archways, something restless stirred.
Selara felt it long before she lay down.
She stood near the tall windows of Draven's chamber, watching the moon hover high above the forest line. Its light spilled across the glass, pale and watchful. Too watchful.
Behind her, Draven removed his jacket slowly, deliberately. The fabric slid from his shoulders like shed armor. He did not speak. He had barely spoken since they left the garden.
Not because he was uncertain.
Because he was thinking.
The silence between them was not empty.
It was charged.
"You're calculating," Selara said softly, without turning.
A pause.
"Yes."
She finally looked at him.
