Morning light spilled into the chamber in soft gold, curling over the furs, the tidy floors, and the pale curve of Elsbeth's bare shoulder where it peeked from beneath the blankets. I lay still beside her, watching the way her lashes fluttered as she slowly came awake, her breathing shifting from the slow rhythm of sleep into something more aware.
She stretched like a wolf—silent, long-limbed, elegant—then blinked up at me with a sleepy smile that tugged something deep in my chest. I brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. She grew more beautiful each day.
"Morning," she murmured.
"Morning," I said back, and leaned in to kiss her.
Before the warmth of that kiss could deepen into something else entirely, a knock came at the door. I groaned. Elsbeth smirked.
"Come in," she called, voice still husky from sleep.
