Hideaway Strath Synapses Snap Back in Blissful Anguish

Machiavelli’s gaze remained distant as he picked at his meal, his eyes drifting absently over the nervous woman while his mind wandered through a web of plans and contingencies.

Only when she spoke did his attention shift, his focus narrowing to her with a slow, deliberate turn of his head. A slight, bemused smile touched his lips as he lifted the tortoise-shell bowl, pausing to savor a draught of wine. You are wise, my dear, not to put your trust in strangers, he murmured, his voice low, as smooth as the dark berries that warmed his throat. I am quite certain, however, you needn't trouble yourself any farther.

With a languid stretch, he rose, directing his attention to a nearby attendant with an elegant nod. Do see to it that our guest has something to sustain her on her journey, won’t you? A modest offering—nothing so extravagant as to delay her departure.

Afterward, Machiavelli inclined his head graciously toward Zitari, a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes, before stepping back into the frigid pool. The cold bite of the water seized his muscles, but he welcomed it, settling deeper into the icy current.

Do linger as long as you like, Zitari, he breathed, reclining into the waters. Should you wish it, my associates can provide whatever care you might need. A wash, perhaps… or a balm to ease those sore muscles from your journey.