DRAVEN
I was halfway to my chambers, boots heavy with exhaustion, when I caught the sound of soft laughter drifting down the corridor.
Elara. Viola's too, more hushed.
I didn't expect to see them rounding the corner so soon. Elara saw me first, her smile immediate, glowing. She looked radiant, hair loose around her shoulders, hands cradling a small cloth pouch like a gift meant for me.
Then her gaze dropped to my tunic.
She stopped cold.
"There's blood," she said sharply, her eyes narrowing in alarm.
"Draven, what happened?"
I looked down. Crimson bloomed just below my ribs. Right. I'd tak-en a blade across the side during training, too stubborn to stop and get it treated. The wound was shallow, but apparently dramatic enough to warrant panic.
"It's nothing," I said, waving it off. "Just nicked myself during drills."
But she was already moving toward me, worry sharpening her every step.
