The first pale light of dawn slipped through the curtains, gilding the room in soft gold.
Eiravyne stirred, lashes fluttering against her cheeks as the brightness gently pulled her from sleep.
For a breath, she lay still, her senses slow to catch up—the warmth at her back, the weight of an arm draped possessively around her waist, the steady rise and fall of another's chest .
Urag.
The realization struck quietly, but no less powerfully.
She shifted slightly, cautious not to wake him, her muscles sore from the unfamiliar position, the faint echo of wine clinging to the edges of her mind.
As her eyes adjusted, the memory of the night returned in warm, disjointed flashes .
Still in his lap. Still held, wrapped in heat and breath.
"Mmh…" Urag murmured against her hair, his voice low and thick with sleep. "Still here… good…"
Her hand rose of its own accord, resting over his heart.
The rhythm beneath her palm was steady, strong—real. She hadn't imagined any of it.
