Lukas regretted that it was too cold for bathing. He felt like he had accumulated dirt from the whole of the Empire and the urge to scrub it gone with hardy, scented soap was strong. While he knew that he looked as clean and crisp as he could manage, he felt the layers of dirt on his skin and in his boots. His clothes, still shiny black leather and crisp white linens, were likely as fragrant as his horse or worse. All in all, it was past time to be clean.

Eyeing the thick comforter on the bed, doubtless as cold as the air around it, he weighed the options of keeping his clothes on for warmth or shucking them for comfort.

He was still deciding, though the boots that rose to mid-thigh had been removed and the studded vest unlaced, when a timid knock sounded against the door.

“I’ve brought your usual hot-spiced wine, M’lord.” Sirach’s voice was thin through the door but managed to carry a tone of pride. He knew that Lukas appreciated the work he did to turn common house wine into something truly spectacular.