Gradually, the tension faded from her brow, the faint crease between her brows smoothing like ripples settling upon still water. Her breathing, once uneven and fragile, grew calm and steady once more.
At last, as dawn's first pale light crept across the horizon, the fever that had consumed her through the night finally broke.
The imperial physician returned to take her pulse and, after a careful examination, declared that she was no longer in danger. Only rest was now required for her recovery.
Only then did Rhaegar allow himself to breathe freely.
He remained seated at her bedside, his gaze lingering upon her beautiful, sleeping face. Slowly, almost reverently, he lifted his hand and brushed it gently across her cheek, as though committing the moment to memory.
"Foolish girl…" he murmured, his voice low and threaded with something deeper than reproach. "To cast aside your very life, merely to bring word to me?"
She gave no answer.
