Kaelen set the empty teacup back on its porcelain saucer with a soft click.
He stood up from his woven hammock, stretching his shoulders under his bathrobe.
From the cedar side table, he picked up two items.
The first was the dog-eared eleventh booklet of The Bandit King’s Secret Bride.
The second was a worn, rectangular folder of dark brown calfskin.
It was his mother Claire Vance’s personal recipe cover, stitched with rough linen thread.
The edges were frayed from thirty years of handling.
Faint smudges of dried wild chamomile and almond oil still marked the inner flaps.
