Two figures entered—not one, as Raven had expected. He crouched lower behind the bookcase, perfectly still, every breath shallow. From his position, he was too close to see without risk, so he only listened.
The door creaked but didn't close completely. Instead, it remained ajar, just enough for sound to leak through.
A breathy laugh. Then the rustle of silk. Low murmurs. Lips meeting in a kiss.
"You're bold to walk these halls at such an hour, my king," came a voice smooth as polished stone—Maeryn's.
A low chuckle followed. "And you're too tempting to resist, my High Speaker. Always waiting in the shadows with that silver tongue."
Another whisper. The rustle of fabric. A low sigh.
Raven's eyes narrowed. Carefully, silently, he shifted just enough to glimpse between the books.
There they were—the King of Kharnath-Dur and High Speaker Maeryn—entangled in a private embrace.
This wasn't passion.
This is a scandal.
