[House Karzath — The Same Night]
The chamber did not breathe like a place of governance. It suffocated. Thick smoke coiled through the air—heavy, bitter, and intoxicating—clinging to velvet drapes and carved stone like something unwilling to leave. The scent was not merely indulgent.
It was poison.
At the center of it—Rakhane.
Reclined upon the lower diwan, one leg stretched, the other bent carelessly, as though the world itself had become beneath him. A pipe rested between his fingers, its embers glowing faintly as he inhaled slowly… Deeply and deliberately.
Wine followed.
Dark red. Thick. Spilled lazily along the rim of his cup as he tipped it back, uncaring.
Decay dressed as pleasure. An attendant stepped forward, trembling slightly as she replaced the empty bottle with a fresh one.
