Daphne woke to an empty bed.
She reached across the sheets, but Alaric's side was cold. Too cold.
He hadn't slept beside her.
Pulling on a robe, she stepped out into the corridor.
The air was brisk, and as she walked, the knights stationed along the hall shifted uneasily, bowing their heads low.
Servants kept their gazes fixed to the ground, their cheeks flushed red. They turned away, as if she had broken some invisible law.
But she did not falter. She walked straight to the study.
Inside, Alaric was bent over his desk, scrolls spread before him, his quill scratching steadily.
His head lifted at her entrance, and for a heartbeat his eyes softened.
Then they hardened again as his gaze swept down to what she was wearing.
"What in God's name are you wearing outside of our chamber?"
Daphne blinked, startled.
She looked down at her robe, silk belted at the waist, her collarbone bare, her hair unbound.
She hadn't thought of it, not once.
