The air inside Elric's private chambers was thick with the scent of sandalwood, worn leather, and the fading, crackling warmth of the hearth. Verona stood rooted to the spot, the door having swung shut behind her with a soft, final thud. She remained near the threshold, her hand clutching the small jade pot of herbs so tightly her knuckles had turned as white as the porcelain vanity in her own room.
She had seen him like this once before, like fully naked. Her mind flickered back to the desperate night in the cabin. Then, she had seen his skin, felt his heat, and nursed his wounds because the alternative was death. In that urgent, life-or-death situation, modesty had been a luxury they couldn't afford. But now, the sight of him felt entirely different. It felt dangerously, overwhelmingly intimate.
