Isolde's sleep was disturbed when she felt the edge of the bed shift under someone's weight. She tried to open her eyes, but a soft touch on the top of her head—gentle strokes brushing through her hair—made her eyelids heavy again.
"Shh…" a low voice murmured as fingers continued to caress her scalp. "Go back to sleep."
She felt something soft press against her lips—just for a second—before she slipped back into unconsciousness.
When she finally woke up, it was morning. The room was empty. Isolde sat up on the edge of the bed, trying to piece together the fragments of the night before. Had it all just been a dream?
Her attention shifted to a tray on the nightstand. Breakfast. Still warm. A glass of steaming peppermint tea, the steam curling up into the air. A bottle of vitamins sat next to it. Had Malric left it here?
