Morning arrived in shades of violet and grey, the light filtering through the high windows of the royal bedchamber.
Elias woke first.
For a few disorienting seconds, the world was soft. The silk sheets were warm, holding the residual heat of two bodies, and his aching limbs—evidence of the night before.
His skin felt sensitive, marked by the pressure of hands and teeth against his collarbone. There was a dull warmth in his chest that, for one moment, felt like reconciliation.
Then he reached out.
The linen on the other side of the bed was smooth. Cold.
Elias sat up slowly, the movement causing a faint soreness to flare between his legs.
He looked at the empty pillow, and the realization came rushing: that hadn't been a homecoming.
A single tear slipped, tracing a hot path down his cheek.
He wiped it away almost angrily with the back of his hand, his jaw tightening.
