The next morning, sunlight poured through the glass roof of the sunroom, painting the yellow rug in warm, golden light.
Mailah woke up slowly. She blinked, feeling the ultra-soft feather pillow beneath her head and the heavy, ridiculous pink blanket tucked snugly around her shoulders. Her knee felt remarkably better—hardly stiff at all.
She turned her head toward the sofa.
Grayson was no longer there. The sofa cushion still held the deep imprint of his broad shoulders, but the demon prince himself had vanished.
Mailah sat up, resting her back against the sofa cushions, a small smirk already forming on her lips. "Grayson?" she called out softly.
"Do not move!" a deep voice commanded sharply from the corridor.
A second later, Grayson marched into the sunroom. He moved with the serious, stiff posture of a high-ranking military general entering a war room.
Mailah's jaw dropped, and she had to bite her lower lip until it hurt to stop herself from screaming with laughter.
