66

Contd.

Alpha King Ozar.

“Yeri?” I say, after clearing my throat but there is no response. I expected it. Therefore, I twist the key into the door and I open it. The air scents of woodsmoke and something sweeter - cherry perhaps, or maybe a foreign spice that I cannot quite place. I notice the windows - all four of them at the entrance – are tightly shuttered, plunging the room into a twilight gloom. It is bright and sunny outside but, in this room, one would think it was winter gloom. At the entrance of her room is a vestibule, its purpose is clear: to shield a consort’s private chambers from the clamor and chill of the outside world.

The floor is covered in a thick, plush carpet woven in shades of emerald and gold. As I walk in, heavy drapes, the color of ripe plums, hangs across the doorway leading into the hallway, muffling any sound that might disturb her solitude. I walk past the visitor’s room and I finally end up at the inner bedroom where a large four-poster bed dominates the