Nheera stood by his bedside, watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest as he lay unmoving upon the bed. She came here every day, lingering for hours at a time—sometimes seated at his side, other times standing in the very spot she now occupied. It was all part of the image she had crafted, the devoted, heartbroken wife faithfully attending to her stricken husband. It was what was expected of her, after all.
Time slipped past unnoticed. The hours seemed to dissolve into one another. She had not spoken a single word since she arrived.
The flickering candlelight bathed the room in a golden glow. When her gaze drifted toward the windows, she found the outside world swallowed whole by darkness.
She reached out and placed the back of her hand against his forehead, feeling his temperature. Zeriel did not stir.
