When I finally opened my eyes, the room was bathed in the soft, gray light of early morning. The space beside me was cold. The heavy furs were still tucked neatly around me, but the warmth of Demetrius—the steady thrum of his heart and the scent of cedar and ozone—was gone.
A sharp pang of disappointment flared in my chest, a small, sad ache that I hadn't expected. I had actually slept. I knew it was because of him. Even in my sleep, I had felt the solid, grounding weight of his arms around me, acting as a barrier between my soul and the monsters that usually chased me through the dark. I gave myself exactly three seconds to mourn the loss of his heat before I shook it off, sitting up and rubbing my eyes.
Don't get ahead of yourself, Rachel, I chided myself. He’s a King. He has a kingdom
