Chapter 33

Aurelia POV

The private dining room on the fourth floor of the manor was bathed in the warm, flickering amber light of a crackling hearth. Outside, the night mountain air howled against the stone battlements, but inside, the quiet was absolute.

A roasted pheasant sat largely untouched between us on silver platters, alongside fresh bread and crystal goblets of dark northern wine. Draven sat at the opposite end of the long mahogany table, completely stripped of his war gear and iron pauldrons. He wore a simple, unadorned black linen shirt, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his scarred forearms. He kept his hands flat on the table, a full ten feet away from where I sat, ensuring he did not make a single sudden movement toward my side of the room.

“You’ve barely eaten, Ria,” Draven said quietly, his voice devoid of the terrifying, booming authority that usually shattered stones in the courtyard. He picked up his wine goblet, taking a slow sip without taking his go