The morning sun filtered through the frosted glass of the bedroom window, casting long, pale rays of light across the heavy furs.
Aria woke slowly, completely enveloped in warmth. She reached out blindly, but the space beside her was empty. The sheets were still holding the lingering heat of Rowan’s body, and the faint, intoxicating scent of pine and wild earth clung to the pillows.
She sat up, pulling the thick woolen quilt around her shoulders. On the bedside table, next to the silver crescent moon pendant, rested a single, perfectly preserved white winter rose. Beneath it was a small piece of rough parchment.
The southern patrols needed checking. Stay warm, my Luna. I will be back before the sun sets. — R.
Aria smiled, her fingers gently brushing the velvety petals of the rose. In S
