Damien's POV
Steam curled around me like pale ghosts as I lingered longer than usual in the bath. The water was no longer warm, cool now but I couldn't bring myself to move. My body still ached from battle, my mind even more so.
The scent of Jasmine oil, sandalwood and crushed pine hung thick in the air, a fragrance my servants always prepared for me after war. It was supposed to calm the nerves. It didn't.
I leaned my head back against the marble edge of the Serevian Chamber, my private bathing hall built centuries ago by my great-grandfather. The walls glowed faintly from embedded crystals, casting soft light over the rippling surface of the pool. The silence was heavy, broken only by the gentle drip of water from the bronze pipes above.
When I finally rose, the water cascading down my skin, I felt the pull of exhaustion deep in my bones. My thoughts wandered back to Adrian, to his tears, his trembling voice, that unbearable moment when he'd said, I love you, Damien.
