Morning sunlight crept through the gauzy curtains, bathing the room in soft gold. For once, the light didn’t sting Valen’s skin—it warmed it. It warmed him.
Seraphine sat at the edge of the bed, brushing her hair in the quiet hum of dawn, her fingers nimble, her eyes distant. She looked like a goddess carved into a mortal’s frame. Valen watched her from behind, propped up on one elbow, reluctant to blink in case she disappeared again.
"You’re staring," she said without looking back.
"You’re real,princess, " he replied, voice husky.
She smiled faintly. "I have to open the flower shop. People need their bouquets and bad poetry cards."
"Let them rot in floral despair."
She turned to face him, arching a brow. "Are you saying you don’t want to meet Elara?"
Valen groaned dramatically. "Th
