[Levin's Dream — Somewhere Between Sleep and Memory]
The storm did not exist there: no thunder, no blood, and no empire hunting through darkness, only warmth and only silence.
Golden lanterns glowed softly across the imperial chamber. The scent of lotus incense lingered lazily through the air, and at the private courtyard, Levin sat quietly upon the lower diwan.
One hand resting against his swollen stomach and the other holding an opened parchment carefully. The soft desert winds moved the silk curtains gently around him, peaceful and tender, like the world itself had forgotten cruelty for a while.
Then suddenly warm hands slipped slowly around his waist from behind. A familiar warmth pressed against his back afterward.
And then that voice, deep, soft, and beloved.
"What is my moonflower doing all alone?"
Immediately Levin's fingers tightened faintly against the parchment from comfort. Slowly he glanced behind himself, and there he was.
