The rattle of footsteps had woken me up from the dream. I gently squeezed my eyelids and leaned my back against the headboard. I noticed that he wasn't beside me. But who was the owner of the footsteps?
"Are you okay, baby?" his voice was anxious. Something must've happened while I was asleep.
"Yes, I'm fine. Why? What's wrong? Did something happen? Is our baby gone?!" I asked worriedly. He was having anxiety attacks and it was contagious.
"No, not our baby but you! You had a fever last night so I called the royal physician," he said, and he touched my forehead.
"Are you telling the truth?" I reached my forehead as well, but I feel fine. Witches don't get fever; they have strong immunity.
"Yes, I couldn't sleep because of you. I'm glad you're fine now."
We had breakfast in our ch
