Mirabelle woke up warm. After weeks of freezing in the North and shivering in drafty castles, the heat was disorienting. She was buried under a pile of furs.
She tried to sit up, but an arm tightened around her waist.
"Don't move," Revas mumbled into her shoulder. His voice was thick with sleep. "The world is still ugly out there. Give it five minutes."
"We can't hide in a bubble forever, Revas," Mirabelle whispered, though she didn't try very hard to pull away.
"Watch me," he said. "I can make this bubble last a thousand years. We can order the servants to bring us food."
He buried his face in her hair. The terrified, frantic energy he'd had last night was gone. Now, he was just heavy and calm, grounding her to the mattress.
"Your heart is slow," he noted, his hand sliding up to rest flat over her chest. "Good. You were running a marathon in your sleep last night."
"I dreamt of crows," she admitted.
Revas went still. "Did you catch them?"
"No. They were laughing."
