The long stone corridor leading to the high chambers was quiet, the palace servants moving through the galleries with their heads down as they lit the tallow candles for the evening.
Soren didn't stop at the guard-post or the council room; he walked straight to the heavy oak door of their private apartments.
Mira was standing in the hallway outside the threshold, her arms full of grey wool blankets and fresh linen sheets.
When she saw the Emperor's cloak coming around the turn, she stopped, her mouth tightening into that sharp, severe line she used when she thought the world was being managed poorly.
"Your Majesty," the maid said, dropping her chin an inch. "She has been huddled over her grimoire since the sun came over the stables. She refused her stew at midday, sire. Said she wasn't hungry, though her skin looks pale and her fingers are trembling slightly."
Soren laid a hand on the door latch. "I will see to it, Mira. Go get some rest."
