I was in the penthouse's private study, attempting to review correspondence while sunlight streamed through tall windows overlooking Avalon. I had barely settled into my chair when I heard the soft sound of the front door opening, followed by familiar footsteps that carried a particular urgency I recognized immediately.
"Arthur," came a melodic voice that managed to sound both ethereally beautiful and desperately needy, "I hope you don't mind that I came to visit so early."
I looked up to see Rachel standing in the study doorway, her brilliant blonde hair catching the morning light like spun gold while her deep blue eyes with their distinctive golden flecks reflected an intensity that made my chest tighten with familiar warmth. Even after years of our relationship, her beauty still took my breath away—there was something almost otherworldly about her features that spoke to her status as Saintess of the Northern continent.
