The first thing I became aware of was warmth.
Not the gentle warmth of sunlight filtering through curtains, but the solid, steady heat of another body beneath me.
My eyes fluttered open slowly, consciousness returning in gentle waves as I found myself pressed against Javrian's chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing creating a rhythm that had lulled me through the night.
'When did I fall asleep like this?'
The memory came back in fragments—sitting on his lap on the balcony, wrapped in the bedsheet, talking about the future we were building together.
I must have drifted off in that position, my body finally surrendering to exhaustion after everything we'd shared.
I lifted my head slightly, wincing as my neck protested the movement. My legs were completely numb from sleeping seated, pins and needles shooting through my thighs as feeling slowly returned.
Every muscle in my body ached with a sweet soreness that reminded me of how thoroughly he'd claimed me the night before.
'How uncomfortable must he have been?'
The thought made guilt twist in my chest. He could have moved me, repositioned us both for better comfort, but instead he'd stayed perfectly still, letting me sleep peacefully against him even at the cost of his own rest.
In the soft morning light streaming through the balcony doors, I could see his face clearly for the first time since we'd reconciled. Sleep had softened the hard lines that usually defined his features, making him look younger somehow.
His raven-black hair fell across his forehead in gentle waves, and those sharp cheekbones that could cut glass seemed almost delicate in repose.
He was beautiful.
Not in the pretty, polished way of court nobles, but in the raw, masculine way of something carved from marble and brought to life. Every angle of his face spoke of strength, from the strong line of his jaw to the proud arch of his nose.
But it was the scar that drew my attention.
The pale line cut across the right side of his face, starting just below his temple and ending near the corner of his mouth.
It was old—I could tell by how it had faded to silver against his tanned skin—but it must have been deep when it was fresh.
Without thinking, I reached up and traced it with my fingertip, the ridge of scar tissue smooth beneath my touch.
His eyes fluttered open immediately, those silver depths focusing on me with startling clarity. No grogginess, no confusion—just instant awareness that made me wonder if he'd truly been sleeping at all.
"Good morning," I whispered, my voice still rough with sleep.
Something soft passed across his expression before he responded. "Good morning, my wife."
The endearment sent warmth spiraling through my chest, but curiosity about the mark under my finger won out. "How did you get this scar?"
For a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and those silver eyes grew distant.
"It was when I was trying to save my mother," he said finally, his voice carefully neutral. "From the assassins the empire sent after my father's death."
I blinked, studying his face more closely. There it was—the burden he carried, written in the subtle hollowness around his eyes, the strange calm that seemed forced rather than natural. He was hiding his pain, trying not to let me see how much those memories still affected him.
'Oh, Javrian.'
My legs screamed in protest as I slowly shifted position, turning to rest my back against his chest instead. The movement sent fresh waves of soreness through my core, a reminder of how thoroughly we'd lost ourselves in each other.
But the discomfort was worth it to be closer to him, to offer whatever comfort my presence could provide.
His hand settled around my abdomen immediately, fingers splaying protectively over the slight swell where our children grew. The gesture made my chest tight with emotion.
I let my head fall back against his shoulder, trying to convey without words what I couldn't quite say aloud—that he wasn't alone anymore, that he had a family now, that I was here to share whatever burdens he carried.
"Why does the empire target you?" I asked softly, genuinely curious about the politics I'd never fully understood. "Aren't the four lords—the four tribes—the ones protecting the empire?"
I knew the basic structure, of course. The Wenhan Empire was surrounded by territories controlled by powerful alpha tribes—east, west, north, and south.
These lords commanded regions filled with strong wolves, natural barriers against external threats. They were supposed to be the empire's guardians, not its enemies.
"We are," Javrian confirmed, his voice rumbling through his chest against my back.
"Then why—"
"Because I'm strong."
The simple statement carried weight that made me pause. I breathed in slowly, processing the implications. "So they want to keep you in check."
"Yes."
There was something else there, something darker lurking beneath his calm tone. I could feel it in the way his muscles tensed slightly, in the careful neutrality of his voice.
"What did you do when your mother died?" I asked the question, slipping it out before I could stop myself, given that my future memories had not much information about his life, but I had an idea of how he led the revolt.
The image was too clear in my mind—this powerful, protective man losing the person who mattered most to him.
If he'd been willing to tear apart an entire marketplace for my sake, what had he done when faced with such a devastating loss?
He remained silent for so long I thought he wouldn't answer.
"They sent me to the front lines," he said eventually. "I protested by killing everyone from the empire who ever crossed or entered the northern territory."
I could picture it—a younger Javrian, consumed by grief and rage, painting the borderlands red with imperial blood.
"But they retaliated," he continued, his voice growing quieter. "By destroying villages, smaller clans that existed in the northern zone. They kept escalating until I agreed to an unofficial treaty to not harm them."
'They used innocents against him.'
The realization made my stomach clench with anger. They'd forced him to watch helpless people die because of his actions, using his own protective nature as a weapon against him.
But there was something else—something he wasn't telling me. I could sense it in the carefully measured way he spoke, in the gaps between his words.
There was more to this story, more pain he was keeping locked away.
I kept my eyes closed, not wanting to push.
After all, I was hiding things from him too—my knowledge of the future, the memories that had been surfacing, the terrible visions of what could come to pass.
Some truths were too heavy to share, especially when doing so might cause more harm than good.
'When the time is right,' I told myself.
Some secrets should be revealed when the time is right.
But the morning air was growing heavy with unspoken pain, and I could feel old wounds reopening just beneath the surface. This wasn't how I wanted to start our day together.
I opened my eyes and shifted slightly in his arms. "I want to take a bath."
He looked down at me, blinking in that way that meant he was transitioning from deep thought back to the present. "Okay."
But as I studied his face, I caught something in his eyes—a subtle vulnerability that made my chest ache. It wasn't quite sadness, not quite fear, but something fragile that he was trying to hide from me.
'I hurt him by asking about the past.'
The guilt was immediate and sharp. Here I was, supposedly comforting him, and instead I'd reopened wounds that were still tender to the touch.
As he lifted me effortlessly in his arms, I wrapped mine around his neck and hugged him tightly, pressing my face against the warm column of his throat. The bedsheet slid away, pooling on the chair behind us, but I didn't care about modesty in that moment.
"I love you, Javrian," I whispered against his skin, hoping the words could somehow heal whatever damage my curiosity had caused.
I felt rather than saw the soft smile that curved his lips. When I pulled back to look at him, there was warmth in those silver eyes again, the vulnerability replaced by something tender and amused.
"Do you know how late you are?" he said, that familiar hint of mischief dancing in his expression.
'Late?'
"What do you mean?"