Floorboards creaked underfoot as he rose. He groaned, moving upwards at a steady, spiraling pace. Usually he enjoyed having his rooms at the top of the tower —particularly when it allowed him to watch the stars from the comfort of his bed—but on nights like this, when he'd lingered in his workshop until the point of exhaustion, the climb vexed him.
Each floor passed like a check-mark. Servants quarters—he really needed to hire someone—kitchen, common areas, library. He passed by each one quickly, dragging his tired body upwards and ignoring the burning beginning to settle in his thighs. Relief came into focus when he reached the floor under his own. Almost there. He paused, resting his hand against her door. It was no more than a heartbeat, but it was a necessary habit. Or a ritual; one without sacrifice, he hoped. With a soft sigh he drew his hand away and continued upwards.