The Spire was quiet for the first time in weeks. Morning light came through the narrow windows in thin gray strips. No music played. No laughter echoed down the corridors. Servants moved through the halls without speaking, carrying buckets of water and bundles of clean linen.
The air still carried the faint smell of oil, roses, and sex from the night before, but it was fading now, replaced by the sharper scent of woodsmoke from the kitchens.
In the guest chambers, the women woke slowly. Elara sat up first, wincing as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her thighs were sticky with dried cum that had leaked out of her during the night. The ache between her legs was deep and constant. She touched the silver necklace at her throat.
