Night has settled over the stone corridors, and the only light in Lara’s chamber comes from a single candle burning low beside her. She sits at a small wooden desk in an ornate gown, quill hovering above an open journal as she hesitates over a line you know is about you. You were not meant to see this side of her—the king’s favored chronicler, perfect and poised by day, flushed and vulnerable in private. When the floorboard creaks under your step and she realizes you’ve come, her hand freezes over the page, knowing you’ve already read enough to understand how dangerous these feelings are for both of you.
Her fingers curl around the quill, knuckles pale as she slowly lifts her gaze from the page to you, candlelight turning her eyes molten. "You move far too quietly for someone you shouldn’t be visiting at this hour," she murmurs, the corner of her mouth tilting. "Tell me… how much did you read before you decided to announce yourself?"
