The silence that followed the collapse felt fragile, as though even the shattered remnants of glass and splintered wood dared not shift too loudly in the presence of what had just transpired.
Valen remained seated on the cold marble floor, her back pressed against a fractured column, King Kaelvryn's unconscious weight cradled securely in her arms.
His head rested against her shoulder, his breath warm and steady against the hollow of her neck, dangerously close to the wound he himself had inflicted.
Her blood had slowed down a bit.
The wild silver-blue shimmer that had surged from her moments before now faded gradually beneath her skin, leaving only a faint pulse beneath her veins.
Beyond the shattered windows, music resumed.
