The days that followed their return to Velmire were quiet — at least, on the surface. Blackthorn Mansion seemed to sleep under a constant veil of rain, its towers hazed in silver mist, its windows whispering with the wind. But inside those walls, peace was only a disguise.
Kael had buried himself in his duties. He spent long hours in his study or at the council chambers, where whispers of witch hunts and border rebellions occupied his mind. Even when home, his thoughts were elsewhere — trapped between scrolls, sealed letters, and reports written in blood-red ink.
Nerine had grown used to his absence. She told herself it didn't matter, that she understood the burden he carried, yet something inside her still yearned for the quiet moments when he had looked at her — not as the woman he was forced to marry, but as someone who truly existed in his world.
If Kael was a storm contained behind glass, then Azaziel was the storm let loose within it.
