I awoke to the gentle morning light filtering through the curtains, casting a soft glow across our bedroom. Beside me, Alaric was still asleep—or at least pretending to be. His breathing wasn't quite deep enough for genuine slumber. I studied his face, noting the dark circles under his eyes that had become more pronounced in recent days.
The chaos surrounding Marquess Lucian Fairchild's death had thrown the entire town into turmoil, and Alaric had been at the center of it all. Between meetings with the King, dealing with the aftermath at court, and ensuring our own household's security, he'd barely slept. I hoped he would get a few more hours of rest before facing another demanding day.
As I shifted slightly, preparing to slip out of bed, Alaric's arm snaked around my waist, pulling me back against his chest.
"Where do you think you're going?" he murmured, his voice husky from sleep.
