The soft morning light filtered through the tall windows, cascading across the marble floor and brushing the edge of Shellia's bed. Her eyelashes fluttered slightly before she stirred, stretching beneath the silken sheets. The first thing she felt was warmth—solid, steady, and much too close. Her brows furrowed slightly, and as her eyes opened, the sight before her made her heart skip a beat.
Allen was there.
The Emperor of Aurora—her emperor—was lying beside her, still wearing the faintest trace of his royal uniform. His emerald-green eyes were half-lidded, calm and unreadable, though a rare gentleness softened the sharpness of his gaze.
For a moment, Shellia thought she was still dreaming. Her breath caught in her throat as her mind scrambled to make sense of what she was seeing. What… why is he here?
