Lindarion woke up warm.
Which was his first warning.
The second was the slow, steady rhythm of someone else breathing inches from his face.
He blinked once.
Then again.
There was a shoulder in front of him. Lira's.
He was lying against her side. No, not just against, pressed. Her arm was under his neck. His hand was half-curled against her chest, and her cloak had somehow wrapped around them both.
His brain froze.
Then very helpfully lit itself on fire.
'Okay. Not dead. Just…very compromised.'
He tried to move without making a sound.
Didn't work.
Lira shifted in her sleep, breath catching slightly, but she didn't wake. Her other arm twitched, barely brushing his ribs through the layers.
He stayed perfectly still.
'You are a prince. You are composed. You are not—'
Something shoved him.
Not hard. But deliberate.
Ashwing's snout bumped the small of his back, just enough to push him closer.
Lindarion barely managed not to choke.
'You little traitor.'
