chapter 8

Aethelfrith's POV

As I arrived at the art gallery, a sinking feeling settled in my stomach. I was about thirty minutes late, and my heart raced with the worry that I had missed Tyramon. As I entered, my eyes scanned the room, but she was nowhere to be found.

With a mix of disappointment and apprehension, I decided to make the most of my time and immerse myself in the artwork. I strolled through the gallery, taking in the diverse range of paintings that adorned the walls. Each brushstroke and color choice held a story, inviting me to explore the artist's world.

I walked slowly, my steps echoing in the quiet space as I absorbed the emotions and narratives captured in each piece.

"Aethelfrith" Tryamon sweet and melodic voice called my name.

I turned to face her, and my breath caught in my throat. Tryamon stood before me, radiating an exquisite beauty that words could not adequately describe. She wore a black short fitted gown with a high slit and an open back, revealing her elegant tatt