When Primrose woke the next morning the bed was cold and the candles had burned down on their stands into wrinkled, misshapen masses.
Kayan was standing with his back to her, his focus on the scene out the window, the sun rising, turning the air around them orange.
“Every morning I am thankful I did not lose my sight in both eyes,” he said.
Primrose sat up, letting the bedcovers fall around her waist. “Every morning?”
“There is not a day when I don’t think about it. Not a day when I don’t realize how much more could have been lost to me.” He turned to face her. “It would have been a shame, never to see your face.”
His voice sounded strange, guarded. He reminded her more of the man she’d first met rather than the man she’d gone to bed with the night before.
“If you wish to go back to
