A little later, Aubrelle had already left Euclid.
By then, Trafalgar had finished bathing and changed into fresh clothes. The warmth from the water was gone now, replaced by the quieter weight of everything waiting for him beyond the mansion. For the first time since waking, he was alone.
He sat in one of the private dining rooms with a plate in front of him, cutting through a thick piece of steak while a glass of good wine rested near his hand. He had woken up hungry, which was not surprising after how the night had gone. If anything, it would have been stranger if he had not.
For a short while, the room stayed silent apart from the faint sound of cutlery against the plate.
Euclid was calm again.
The wedding was over. The guests had come and gone. Aubrelle had already left ahead of him. The mansion had returned to its usual order, though the quiet today felt different from the silence it had carried before. It was his again. His house. His territory. His people.
