Angela woke in her old room, not the dungeon, and the strange sensation of it hit her like a wave. It had been a couple of days, but she was still not used to 'freedom'.
The bed beneath her was just too soft, the sheets clean and smelling of lavender instead of damp stone. The air was warm, not cold and wet.
There were no bars, no chains, no distant drip of water echoing through the dark. Just the quiet of a royal chamber at dawn, and the faint, gray light filtering through the heavy curtains.
She stretched slowly, her body still expecting the hard cot and the rough blanket. Her eyes were bleary with sleep, her mind sluggish, still hovering somewhere between dreams and waking.
It didn't feel real. It felt like one of those dreams where she was free to roam the world, and then she would wake to the cold iron and the flickering torchlight.
But the sheets were real. The warmth was real. Until—
Her fingers brushed against something solid and warm in the bed beside her.
