The living room of the Dravik estate was less of a room and more of a cathedral dedicated to silent, overwhelming wealth. Sunbeams slanted through the high, arched windows, illuminating dust motes that seemed to hover in the air with a certain reverence. Amara sat on a sprawling velvet sofa that felt soft enough to swallow her whole. She was swaddled in a cashmere cardigan that smelled faintly of lavender and the crisp, expensive scent of the mansion's laundry service.
She felt like a stowaway in her own life.
Darien was gone. He'd left an hour ago, his expression a complicated knot of reluctance and duty. Amara had simply nodded, her head still spinning from the weight of Elio's clinical commentary. She assumed he was tucked away in some subterranean war room, doing the things that kings do when their kingdoms have been threatened.
"You're thinking too loud, Miss Hayes. It's bad for digestion."
