Dawn came quietly.
As usual, Alaric woke before the day completely brightened. He lay motionless for a moment, taking in the gentle rhythm of the room, the distant call of a bird outside the window, the faint crackle of the dying hearth.
He then turned to face her.
Even in sleep, Daphne's back was rigid as she lay on her side, facing away from him. They was space between them, not very much. But enough that it was like a wound to him.
The previous evening, she had been distant, caution even. Too cautious. And Alaric hated that he noticed.
He hated that his mind kept circling the same thought, over and over; she was hiding something.
He closed his eyes briefly, steadying his breath.
It hadn't even been a month since Nathaniel's birth. Her body was still healing. He would not pressure her. He would not become another burden she had to carry.
Still… the thought refused to leave him.
