Velin was assigned to a guest room in the west wing of the castle.
The room wasn't large. A coarsely woven family tapestry hung on the stone wall, its design the crest of the Dawn family, but it had faded from years of exposure.
The bed was made of oak, and the sheets smelled of soap and sunshine, clearly having been diligently laundered and sun-dried.
He walked to the window and pushed open the panes.
The scene in the courtyard came into view.
Diana was sitting on a stone bench by the basin of a dry fountain in the center of the courtyard.
She was still wearing the same pale blue linen dress from earlier, her back ramrod straight, like a poplar tree braving the cold wind.
A man was standing before her—Count Philippe.
He held a leather-bound book in his hands and was reciting poetry in a declamatory, aria-like tone.
"Oh, pearl of the Dawn, your golden hair outshines the rising sun, your lake-blue eyes are the starlight that guides me when I am lost..."
