267 – Roman POV
From the large arched window of my bedroom—yes, I have a private room in the estate, all the sentinels do apart from Victor ofcourse—I peer down at the western slope leading toward the main house.
And there they are.
The infamous Crimson General and his radiant husband, returning like a pair of misbehaving students sneaking back to the dorms after curfew.
They're both wearing that post-debauchery disheveled look: Thorne's collar is half undone, his belt clasp barely holding on for dear life, and Noelle has leaves in his hair. Literal leaves. There's even a bit of moss on his shoulder. It's like nature personally signed off on whatever happened in those woods.
I squint.
Is that... a flower petal on Thorne's cheek?
Noelle is smiling, soft and satisfied, cheeks flushed as he casually brushes grass and greenery from his hair, completely unbothered. Meanwhile, Thorne is trailing behind, looking like a smug bastard with the most idiotic grin on his face.
