Morning arrived at last.
Caelith opened her eyes and stared at the wooden beams overhead, remaining motionless for a long while.
The fever had broken.
Her entire body was damp with sweat, her inner garments clinging uncomfortably to her skin. When she shifted slightly, a dull soreness still lingered deep within her bones, but compared to the torment of the previous night, she felt considerably better.
Last night...
Slowly, she sat up against the headboard and pressed her fingers to her temple.
The memories were frustratingly vague.
Fragments drifting through her mind like shadows concealed behind a veil of mist.
Someone had held her. Someone had patted her back and stayed beside her throughout the night.
Yet that person had carried a scent she could not place. It had not been the familiar fragrance of cedarwood that always lingered upon Rhaegar.
Nor had it been the cool, restrained scent she associated with him.
