Rain continued falling beyond the tall palace windows in slow unending waves, the storm washing silver across the sleeping imperial capital while distant thunder rolled softly through the night sky above the palace roofs like a tired heartbeat refusing to disappear completely into silence.
Within the quiet warmth of the western chambers, however, another storm lingered.
Smaller.
Far more dangerous.
Silvain remained standing near the window with one hand braced faintly against the marble ledge beneath it, his tall frame rigid beneath dark Temple robes still carrying traces of rain and incense from the chaos of the night while soft amber firelight flickered across sharp features visibly strained beneath exhaustion and restraint alike.
The aphrodisiac incense still lingered faintly within his system.
Not violently anymore.
Not enough to destroy reason.
