The next morning, when Rosalind awoke, she sat at the edge of the bed with dark circles beneath her eyes and her hair in disarray. Reaching for the glass of water on the table beside her, she had barely lifted it before it slipped from her grasp and crashed to the floor with a sharp sound.
She let out a quiet breath and ran a hand through her tangled hair as she bent down to gather the shattered pieces, while the water spread in thin streams across the floorboards.
Just then, the door opened, and Rowan stepped inside.
She glanced up from beside the bed only to find him already moving toward her, before she looked back down and reached for another shard.
"Good morning, my lady," he said, his voice calm as ever, though his eyes immediately fell to her hands. "You should not be picking that up yourself."
Rosalind resisted the urge to roll her eyes, though they narrowed slightly at how quickly he had appeared after hearing the crash.
