Eiravyne's eyelids fluttered open, reluctant to leave the fog of sleep.
Pale sunlight filtered through the shutters, painting the room in gentle streaks.
For a moment, she lay still, savoring the warmth of the bed… and then she realized.
Urag was still there.
Not just near her, on her, in the way he had pressed close last night.
His head rested against her shoulder, one arm draped over her waist, his body molded to hers .
Even in sleep, he seemed impossibly tethered to her.
She willed herself not to breathe too loudly, not to twitch, not to do anything that might wake him.
For what felt like an hour, Eiravyne lay frozen, letting herself drift between the warmth pressed against her and the swirl of her own thoughts.
It was comforting in a way that made her head spin .
And then, almost unbidden, her thoughts turned to the princess.
That woman who painted Urag in shades Eiravyne had never even imagined.
She swallowed, heart tightening.
