Lorraine stepped closer. With each step, his features sharpened in the shifting light, or at least the part the mask allowed her to see. His lips were slightly parted, his breath a steady rhythm that whispered through both mouth and nose. A faint, almost imperceptible snore threaded the silence between them. The new emerald pin at the base of his braid caught the sun and flickered like a shard of captured light. Loose strands of hair had fallen across his brow, swaying when the breeze teased them.
Before she could think better of it, she was already lowering herself beside him. Her fingers moved of their own accord, brushing the hair away from his forehead with a touch so light it could have been the wind.
Emma's eyes widened. She moved to intervene. The prince was sleeping, and if he woke to find her this close…
But Sylvia caught her wrist in a quiet, firm stop.
