Night fell sooner than I could finish my work. By the time I pulled the last rug into place, the moon had risen bright in the dark purple sky.
The callouses on my hands burned, before my healing ability soothed my skin soft once more, as they always had.
Still the exhaustion of the day had inevitably taken root, the sore aching echoing bone-deep. I was yawning as I made my way back towards the King’s quarters.
And there, in the darkness of the corridor, was a sliver of light. The King was in his study. His door, oddly, had been left ajar.
As I got closer, my steps became softer, hesitant.
There were no voices, only the occasional shuffle of pages amidst the sound of pen gliding over parchment. He was alone.
I thought about speaking with him.
I could ask again about my brother…. Or,
