By the time the servants had finally brought in enough hot water to fill a whole tub, more time had passed than Morvran had wanted to waste.

He still bathed.

A relieved sigh left his lips as he slowly climbed into the warm water and let himself sink so deep that his torso and legs disappeared under water. He had tied the shoulder-length brown hair in a ponytail to prevent it from getting wet. He couldn't afford to meet important people while his hair was wet.

It would have taken too long to dry it and there was no mage at hand that could have helped.

With enjoyment on his face, he put his feet on the edge of the bathtub and enjoyed the cold wind while bathing in warmth. For a moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes, letting himself be guided into the feeling that embraced him.

It was all so quiet and relaxed. Rarely was it so quiet in the yard. It was as if all the loud voices had suddenly disappeared, as if the blasphemous men and women had fallen silent, only to give him that moment of calm on a night that couldn't have been more beautiful.

The sky was wrapped in a dark cloth decorated with a thousand sparkling stars. The soft light of silver threads fell through the large windows and kissed his pale skin with coldness.

It tingled slightly in the places where the rays touched his legs. As if they were actually kissing him.

He allowed himself to be even more relaxed, sank even deeper into the water and tilted his head.

Suddenly, he was so tired. So incredibly tired.

He wanted to fall asleep in this very place, embraced by warmth and a feeling of water that could not be described. For a moment he enjoyed that feeling, rested and just enjoyed the silence.

Work had kept him up all day, all night and even longer. The last long, decent sleep must have been ages ago. Or in his mother's womb.

He hadn't noticed how tired he really was. He never did. Most of the time it was easier to just suppress the urge to fall asleep. Instead, he had used a potion that the sorceress Yennefer of Vengaberg had given him. It did its job pretty well but now she was off with her Witcher and had not left any stash for him.

His arms were heavy as stone and when he tried to move his legs it felt as if he had walked thousands of miles without stopping a single time.

Gods, how much could a man endure before he had to die of exhaustion?

Another sigh left his lips, longer and heavier this time.
He had to get back to work as quick as possible.

Quickly but thoroughly he cleaned himself with the piece of soap. He was particularly thorough in washing his arms, the biceps got quite dirty these days. Maybe the black and blue spots came from the fabric paint. But that was not his main concern. The clothes suited his tall body well, making him look broad but not too broad. Gold and black suited him. Many women had already complimented his choice of clothing.

He moved on to shaving.

With a sharp raiser blade, the general started shaving his face. There was already a hint of beard hair on his sharp cheekbones and the long chin. Then he moved on to the hair that grew in his armpits. In Nilfgaard there was no hair except on the head. Everything else was considered unhygienic. Some men wore beards, but they always had to look perfect, otherwise they would be judged.

Morvran preferred to shave. It was easier, faster and not as complex as having to take care of a beard.

When he fished, he stretched both arms into the air, making his muscular torso look a lot more defined and slender than it actually was. To be fair, he was a well build man with little amount of body fat and broad shoulders. But even he was not able to look as ripped as a Geralt of Rivia. However, he was very happy with what his father had inherited him.

Closing the eyes, he enjoyed the feeling of water running down his slim neck, then over his muscular chest and broad shoulders until the drops flowed back into the tub. Sitting in silence, he enjoyed the last moments of steaming hot water around him.

Then he got up, put on a simple robe made of cotton, and went to bed.

Actually, he wanted to read a book, but when the words began to dance in front of him and his eyes got heavy, he put it away again.

He didn't want to fall asleep. Sleep needed time. He had no time. Especially no time to waste.

With a contented hum he let himself fall back, soft pillows, stuffed with the best down in all of the empire, welcomed him.

He didn't use the blanket. If he went under the blanket, it would have been only a matter of time before the tiredness would have overwhelmed his sore body. At this point, he was so tired, moving a finger was exhausting.
Cold embraced his body, a wind danced through his chamber. Somewhere the servants had probably opened a window to allow the moisture to escape. Good for him, the cold was all that kept him awake at this point.

Despite his tiredness, he closed his eyes.

Probably shouldn't have done that, but at that moment he just couldn't help it. His eyes burned as if someone had poured oil in and set them on fire. They were dry and at the same time tears were dripping down his cheeks, leaving a thin trail of salt on the freshly washed face.

It was not long until the tiredness settled on his chest like a cat and prevented the general from getting up again. Darkness ensnared him, dragged him deeper and let the world of dreams capture his mind.