A maid began to brush out Daphne's hair. Daphne had decided against wearing any makeup, confident in the natural glow of her skin.
As she stared at her reflection in the large vanity mirror, feeling more at peace than she had in years, she noticed several red marks on her neck, down to her chest, faint but unmistakable reminders of Alaric's passion from the night before. A blush crept up her cheeks.
"My husband," she began, her voice a little shy, "where is he?"
"On the training grounds, madam," the maid replied respectfully. "He's training."
Daphne's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Since when?" she asked.
"Since dawn, Your Highness," the maid said, her tone completely matter-of-fact.
Daphne's mouth fell open slightly. She glanced at the sunlight streaming through the window.
It was well past noon.
How could he have been training all this time?
