"Goodnight, Lord Cherion."
Soren's voice had that practiced, oily sheen to it, the kind of polite tone that made Cherion want to check if his wallet was still in his pocket. The man was finally retreating, backing out of the bedchamber with a bow so deep it felt more like a mockery than a gesture of respect. When the heavy door finally clicked shut, the sound was the most beautiful thing Cherion had heard all day.
He collapsed backward onto the mattress, letting out a sigh that practically deflated his entire lungs. Finally, alone.
"No hate for the guy, really," Cherion muttered to the ceiling, his voice muffled by the plush velvet pillows, "but he is hovering like a literal human fly. A big, handsome, judgmental fruit fly."
