The night after Kaelen's second nightmare, I did not return to my chambers.
Instead, I found a chair—a simple wooden thing, straight-backed and uncomfortable—and I placed it outside his door. The corridor was cold, the stone floor hard beneath my feet, the shadows thick and menacing. But I did not mind. I had endured worse for him. I would endure worse still.
I did not tell him I was there. I did not knock, I did not announce my presence, and I did not ask for permission. I simply sat, wrapped in a fur blanket, and waited.
The hours passed slowly. The torches burned low, their flames flickering in the drafts that swept through the corridor. I listened to the silence, straining for any sound that might indicate he was in distress. But there was nothing. Only the silence, the cold, and the weight of my own thoughts.
