Zarius stood by the wide stone archway of the estate entrance, his arms crossed over his chest as the distant sound of carriage wheels echoed through the courtyard. The bizarre, phantom chill that had aggressively raced down his spine hours earlier in his study had finally faded, leaving behind a lingering, restless urge to see his partner return in one piece.
The carriage's doors swung open, and Marielle stepped out first, practically bouncing with a strange, high-energy excitement. But when Cherion stepped down, Zarius's brow immediately furrowed.
Cherion looked entirely miserable. His posture was slumped with pure exhaustion, his formal collar was aggressively yanked open at the throat, and his face carried a deeply irritated, dark expression. He didn't look like someone who had just attended an exclusive gathering, but he looked like a man who had barely survived a grueling shift in the trenches.
