The morning sun peeked through the curtains, casting soft golden rays over the room. The air was thick with the remnants of last night—warmth, exhaustion, and an undeniable sense of satisfaction.
Iridelle stirred, her body humming with a pleasant soreness. Every muscle ached in ways she hadn't expected, and yet, there was an odd sense of triumph mixed in. She stretched lazily, only to wince as her legs protested the movement.
'Okay… that was… intense,' she thought, rolling onto her side, pulling the sheets up to her chin. 'And by intense, I mean… Alaric is a menace. A complete, reckless, insatiable menace.'
She turned her head slightly and found Alaric still beside her, his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths. The normally sharp-eyed, quick-tongued noble looked oddly peaceful in sleep—his messy hair sprawled over the pillow, lips slightly parted. He had an arm draped over her waist, like he had claimed her as his possession overnight.
