Noel sat on the edge of his bed—legs crossed at the ankles, back against one of the tall mahogany posts of the four-poster. The room was quiet as a single lamp burned on the bedside table casting warm yellow light across the dark blue bed hangings, the polished wood floor, and the two occupants.
He wore only a loose white shirt now—sleeves rolled to his elbows, top three buttons undone, collar open at the throat. His feet were bare; toes curled against the thick carpet.
Across from him—seated in the upholstered chair beside the writing desk—Alaric looked almost too relaxed for the conversation they were about to have. He leaned forward—elbows on his knees—hands loosely clasped with a curious expression on his face.
Noel exhaled—long, slow.
He had no one to talk to about this.
Not really. Not even in his past life. Not until tonight.
Alaric knew his secret—he had seen him with Rowan.
Alaric knew Noel had walked in on him and Joel in that half-hidden room at the palace.
