The morning after Nero's birthday was considerably quieter than the celebration had been.
The formal guests were gone, the southern halls had been returned to the imperial household, and by late morning the family had gathered in one of the private garden rooms overlooking the eastern terraces, where open doors let warm air move through the pale stone interior and carried the scent of citrus blossoms from outside.
There was no seating plan.
Chris had claimed one end of the long sofa with Nayra beside him, while Dax occupied an armchair nearby with a cup of coffee and the expression of a man grateful that nobody expected him to make a speech. Jax had stretched himself across another chair until Rowan passed the doorway and gave him a look severe enough to make him put both feet on the floor.
