The scent of roasted duck and candle wax filled the air.
Jocelynn blinked. She was sitting at a small, polished table in a warm, firelit room, with a silver cup of wine in her hand and the rustle of silk around her knees. She was wearing her ocean-blue gown. The good one, the one that made her eyes look like the sea. One of her favorite strands of pearls lay cool against her throat, and her hair had been woven into a loose braid that fell over her shoulder.
She was in a small private dining room at the Summer Villa, the one that adjoined Owain's chambers.
Of course. Of course it was. Where else would she be when her hero had returned from the battlefield, covered in the glory of his conquest?
