[Silthara Palace—The Next Day—Early Morning]
Morning did not arrive gently. It slipped into the chamber, quiet and careful. As if it feared what it might touch. Upon the bed Levin lay not at rest, not at peace but suspended in a sleep that carried pain beneath it.
His brows faintly drawn, his breath uneven, and his hands still resting over his abdomen, too protective and too aware even in sleep.
Zeramet stood beside him silent and watching, not as a ruler, not as a king, but as something far more dangerous. A man who had already chosen what would follow, his gaze lowered to Levin's hands and to the place they guarded.
Slowly he reached forward, not to harm, not to intrude, just to feel the moment—the very moment his finger neared—and Levin flinched even in sleep. His body reacted before thought, before awareness, before waking.
His hands tightened, clutching protectively and shielding, as if something within him refused to allow anything closer.
