He cursed under his breath. He hoped to the high heavens this wouldn't keep up for too long.
He missed his wife. Goddess, he missed her. The warmth of her skin against his, the scent of their bed tangled with her hair, the quiet strength in her laughter when she let her guard down. Now, they were living like strangers in the same house.
Luna had been sleeping in the baby's room for three nights straight, leaving his bed as cold and empty as his chest felt without her. He could still smell the faint lavender of her presence when he entered their bedroom, but it only deepened the void.
He longed to crawl into her space, to bury himself against her, to beg for forgiveness even though he wasn't sure he deserved it.
But instead, he was playing a game with Isolde—a woman he should have killed rather than entertained. And every moment he kept the farce alive was another lash against his bond with the only woman who had ever truly owned him.
*****
