She woke before the sun fully rose, not because something was wrong, but because something was steady.
That realization alone felt unfamiliar enough to pull her from sleep. For weeks, her waking moments had come sharp and fractured, mind racing ahead of her body, senses searching for whispers, shadows, pressure at the edges of thought.
This morning, the silence felt different. Not Drogo’s silence or the woman, not the suffocating quiet that pressed against her skull until she feared the next breath.
Across from her, Arthur sat awake.
Of course he did.
He leaned against the trunk of a tree, posture relaxed but alert, gaze drifting across the forest in quiet vigilance. He had removed his cloak at some point in the night, leaving only dark travel leathers that caught the early light alon
