Sunlight filtered through the heavy velvet curtains of my opulent bedchamber, gilding the rumpled silk sheets like a lover's whisper.
I stirred in my sleeping gown—a diaphanous cascade of midnight blue, cool against my skin—and woke to the quiet rhythm of my own breath. It seemed Herick had cleaned me meticulously, just as I'd expected him to.
Every trace of our fervent night erased with gentle precision: the faint herbal scent of cleansing oils lingered on my body, my hair brushed smooth and unbound. Good. Herick had impressed me yet again with his aftercare, a devotion that bordered on worship.
I sat upright slowly, the gown slipping off one shoulder to reveal the faint marks of his passion—love bites blooming like secret roses along my collarbone. My eyes fixated on his sleeping face, inches away on the grand four-poster bed. Herick, my steadfast knight, lay sprawled in repose, chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths.
