By the time they returned to the Scarlet Anchor, twilight had melted into a soft indigo night. Lanterns swung from iron hooks, their golden light reflected in the slow-moving river beyond.
Torven was already waiting at the entrance, bowing so fervently it was a wonder he hadn't toppled into the gravel.
"Your Majesties! Your rooms have been prepared!" he announced breathlessly, wiping his brow. "Dinner will be served in your private dining room whenever you desire. The kitchens have outdone themselves, I assure you. Oh—and word from your escorts: the carriages shall be ready for departure at dawn tomorrow."
Soren nodded with polite gratitude; Eris gave a curt dip of her head.
They entered through the inn's grand corridor, where flickering candles threw shifting shadows across polished wood. The scent of spiced stew drifted faintly from the kitchens. The hall split at the staircase, left wing and right , each direction leading to the chambers Torven's trembling hands had indicated.
