The shared chamber was a sanctuary of quiet luxury, adorned with silken drapes in hues of twilight and scattered with softly glowing lanterns. The air was warm and fragrant, scented with lavender and the faint sweetness of honey, curling into tendrils of steam that danced around the room.

In the center of the chamber, a grand marble bathtub, carved with delicate runes, sat filled with warm, shimmering water that caught the light like liquid starlight. The princess reclined within, her long, golden hair trailing over the edge of the tub, damp and glistening against her bare shoulders. Her skin, kissed by the divine light of her realm, seemed to glow as water beaded and trickled down her arms.

Perched on the edge of the bath, Feyralith sat gracefully, her posture poised yet relaxed. Her gown, a soft, flowing piece of sheer midnight blue fabric, clung to her form in places, rippling like water around her legs. It was simple but elegant, adorned only with a thin, gold-threaded sash that cinched at her waist. Her bare feet dipped close to the water, brushing its surface absentmindedly as she spoke.

Her golden eyes were warm, soft with an expression of quiet reverence as she listened to the princess recount the events of her day. The princess spoke with a regal confidence, her voice low and musical, as if recounting tales to a trusted companion rather than a servant.

She reached out, her fingers ghosting over the rim of the tub as if she might touch the water but refrained, her presence as unobtrusive as it was comforting. Her own voice, when she spoke, was soft and melodic, a counterpoint to the princess’s words, Feyralith’s freckled cheeks dimpling ever so slightly in response. She reached for the silver pitcher on the side of the bath and began to pour warm water over the princess’s shoulders, the gesture slow and reverent, her golden eyes never leaving the princess’s face.