The dawn came softly, a pale blush over the horizon, brushing the clouds with gold. The air was still, heavy with the scent of dew. Tiania stirred awake to the faintest sound of movement, the rustle of fabric, the clink of glass.
When she opened her eyes, Henrick wasn’t beside her. Instead, there was a note on the pillow, written in his familiar, elegant handwriting:
Follow the rose petals.
Her lips curved before her mind even caught up. She pushed herself up, slipping on her robe, and followed the trail out of the bedroom. The petals led down the hallway, scattered like whispers, to the back door, where the soft glow of lanterns guided her path across the lawn.
Beyond the hedges, at the edge of the property where the cliff met the flowing river, lay a blanket spread wide on the grass, a basket waiting beside it, and Henrick standing there in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, watching the sunrise.
He turned when he heard her approach. “You’re early.”
