For the next several days I only saw Pharis during our training sessions.
That left plenty of time for exploring his home, which I did as much as my healing legs would allow. Stormcrest was massive and utterly wonderful.
The morning room faced the ocean and featured silver-leaf wall panels to reflect the light pouring in through its copious windows.
I particularly loved its ceiling mural, painted to depict the four seasons, and thanks to the abundant live plants and potted trees, the air in the room always smelled fresh.
The formal dining room was breathtaking no matter how many evening meals I consumed in it.
I was frequently drawn to the upper and lower loggias on the castle’s ocean-facing side. The open air extensions of the living quarters were covered overhead but open on one side to admit sea breezes and provide stunning views of the Great Gray sea.
Both loggias had vaulted tile ceilings featuring mosaics created with thousands of tiny pieces of marble to formwhimsical designs like frolicking dolphins, dancing waves, and colorful coral.
Despite all the grandeur, my favorite room remained the library. It was where I spent most of my time.
Its rich fabrics, leather furniture, dark, walnut-paneled walls, and perpetually burning fireplace made it feel like a cozy cocoon I could easily tuck into for hours at a time.
About a week after our training sessions had begun, I was curled up in one of the comfy leather chairs reading before the fireplace when I noticed Pharis pass the open doorway and glance inside.
A few minutes later, he walked past again. And again, he darted his eyes in my direction as he went by but said nothing and didn’t acknowledge our eye contact.
When it happened a third time, I sent him a mental message.
You can come in, you know.
He must have heard me because a moment later, his large frame filled the doorway.
“What did you say?”
“I said you can come in, you know. Itisyour library. There’s plenty of room in here for the both of us if you want to read. Or if it’s uncomfortable for you, I can leave.”
Pharis took a step inside, looking around. “That won’t be necessary. I’m too busy to read.”
“What is it that you do all day?” I asked. “When you’re not torturing me with training sessions that is. And why have you not come to dinner after that first night?”
“Why, do you miss me?” he asked in a teasing tone.
Without giving me a chance to respond, he said, “I have business to attend to. Planning a coup isn’t easy, you know.”
“Ha ha,” I said to his facetious response.
Just then a footman appeared at the library entrance.
“The carriage is here, My Prince.”
“Yes, thanks,” Pharis said. “I’ll be there shortly.”
A carriage? Did Pharis have a visitor?
Based on his response to the footman, he had been expecting the arrival. Was he making it public knowledge now that he’d survived the dragon attack, or was he sharing that information with only a select few?
And only wealthy people had carriages. Whoever his guest was had to be a person of means.
“Is it Stellon?” I asked in a near-frantic tone, giving voice to the first thought that had popped into my head.
Pharis and Stellon at different times had each told me how close they’d been growing up. Only once I’d arrived on the scene had they experienced a rift.
Perhaps Pharis had reached out secretly to his brother and let him know he was alive.
