Someone was whispering her name. She hoarded sleep. The voice repeated her name and fingers stroked her temple. She groaned and opened her eyes, blinking in the half-light. He was standing beside the bed, his fur cloak around his shoulders.
‘I must go, Irenya, or there will be a hue and cry from one side of the citadel to the other. My squires are not accustomed to finding my bed empty.’
He kissed her and she watched him walk away, wanting to call him back, but the rush of words jammed in her throat. At the door he paused, his face pale above the cloak. Through the gloom she saw a small secretive smile. His chin lifted a fraction in farewell and he was gone.
Her shoulder had chilled before it occurred to her to lie down again. She pulled the quilt around her ears and buried her face in
