The door opened into light.
Not the harsh, golden light of chandeliers or the cold, blue light of mana lamps, something softer, warmer, the color of honey stirred into tea. Kaelen stepped inside and stopped.
The room was vast.
The ceilings were high, crossed with dark wooden beams carved with patterns of vines and leaves and small, sleeping animals. The walls were paneled in pale oak, interrupted by tall windows draped in velvet the color of forest moss.
To his left, a seating area: a curved sofa the color of cream, piled with cushions in shades of blue and gold. Before it, a low table of dark, polished wood, its surface scattered with books and a silver tray holding a decanter of something amber and two empty glasses. A fire crackled in a hearth of pale stone, its mantel carved with the same vine patterns as the beams.
