The sun rose over the capital, casting long, golden beams across the Royal Guest Palace.
Inside the master suite, the light filtered through the gap in the velvet curtains, hitting Oliver directly in the eyes.
He groaned, trying to shield his face, but his arm felt like lead. In fact, his entire body felt like it had been trampled by a stampede of rhinos.
"Ugh…"
He tried to sit up, but a heavy weight pinned him down.
Isolde was draped across his chest, fast asleep. Her silver hair was a chaotic halo spread over his face and the pillows. The sheet was tangled around her waist, leaving her bare back exposed to the morning chill—though her skin radiated a supernatural heat that kept him uncomfortably warm.
She looked peaceful. Angelic, even.
Unlike the room.
