SOREN
I barely registered the words coming out of Aldric's mouth. He was droning on about some border dispute in the West, some piddling squabble between lords that usually would have had my full attention, but tonight? Tonight, the air in the Grand Hall felt stagnant, thick with the scent of stale wine and the lingering desperation of a hundred men trying too hard to be impressive.
"Are you even listening, Soren?" Aldric's voice was a jagged blade, cutting through my fog.
I blinked, forcing a lazy, half-convinced smirk onto my face. "Hmm? Yes. Absolutely. Something about the West. Riveting, truly."
I was lying through my teeth. My focus was miles away, or rather, just a few corridors away, locked behind a set of silver-chased doors. I could still feel the phantom heat of Eris's skin where I'd touched her during the dance. The memory of that water, ice turned to liquid fire by her body, was a slow-acting poison in my veins.
