Eris sat propped against a small mountain of pillows, her expression one of weary, royal sufferance. Someone, likely Mira, given the aggressive fluffing she'd witnessed earlier, had arranged them with a level of precision usually reserved for military fortifications.
There were far too many of them, a soft, velvet barricade that pinned her upright, but she lacked the immediate energy to throw them across the room.
Aldric stood near the heavy oak door, his posture a study in stiff-necked presence. He wasn't talking. He wasn't even moving. He was simply there, an anchor in the room.
Near the window, Ryse stood with his arms crossed, his silhouette framed by the pale light of a city struggling to breathe. After days of having no one to guard but a sleeping body, he looked almost relieved to have a breathing target to protect, though his stance suggested a professional adjustment to the new, fragile reality of the room.
