Morning came quietly.Not with ceremony. Not with urgency.Just light slipping through the curtains in thin, pale lines, settling across the shared sitting room like it belonged there.Caelan was already awake.He usually was.Not because he slept well—he didn’t—but because lying still too long gave his thoughts too much space to wander, and lately, that space had become… crowded.So he moved.Early. Quiet. Controlled.By the time the first servant knocked, he was seated at the desk in the sitting room, a document open in front of him, pen in hand, posture composed like he’d been there for hours instead of minutes.“Enter,” he said.The servant stepped in with practiced grace, carrying a tray. Tea. Bread. Fruit arranged too neatly to feel real.Routine.Safe.Predictable.Caelan didn’t look up immediately. He let the moment settle first, let the room take its shape before he acknowledged it.“Set it there,” he said, gesturing lightly toward the low table by the window.“Yes, Your High
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