Riley reminded her, again and again, of the killer she had married: the man who had single-handedly turned the tide of battles, who feared no blade or shadow.
Monique clung to him, lost in the storm of sensation, until exhaustion finally claimed her.
She drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, sprawled across the rumpled sheets, her dark hair fanned out like spilled ink on the pillow.
Riley watched her for a long moment in the dim glow of the dying fire, brushing a stray lock from her flushed cheek.
A soft smile touched his lips, though his jaw tightened with resolve. He pressed one last kiss to her forehead, whispering,
"Sleep well, my love. I'll return to you soon."
At the first light of dawn, while the manor still slumbered and mist clung to the rolling hills outside, Riley rose.
He dressed in his weathered leather armor, strapped on his sword, and gathered his traveling cloak.
