Morning sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a golden glow across the breakfast table. I smiled as Alaric buttered a piece of toast, his hair still slightly mussed from our earlier embrace before leaving bed. These quiet moments of domesticity had quickly become my favorite part of each day.
"More tea?" I offered, already reaching for his cup.
Alaric's mouth curved into a lazy smile. "Please."
As I poured the steaming liquid, I couldn't help but marvel at how natural this felt—sharing breakfast with my husband, discussing plans for the day ahead. The fear and uncertainty that had haunted me since childhood seemed distant now, like shadows banished by the warmth of Alaric's presence.
Our peaceful morning was interrupted by a sharp knock on the dining room door. Alistair entered, his expression perfectly composed despite the early hour.
