Daphne woke first.
It took her a moment to remember where she was. The ceiling wasn't the palace ceiling. The curtains were wrong. The room smelled faintly of old wood and lavender soap, her childhood room.
Then she felt him.
Alaric lay beside her, his arm heavy across her waist, his forehead resting against her shoulder blade. He was awake. She knew because his breathing wasn't even.
For a few heartbeats, neither of them moved.
The night before felt close and far at the same time, like something fragile she was afraid to touch again in case it broke. Her body still remembered him, but her chest felt tight. This, whatever this was, didn't mean everything was fixed.
She shifted slightly.
His arm tightened.
"Don't," he murmured, his voice was still rough with sleep and the tension from last night. "Not yet."
"I wasn't leaving."
"I know." He paused, then added, "I just… need a moment."
That hurt more than she expected.
