Surviving the wedding night of the Crown Prince of Arindale was a physical triumph. Surviving the morning after was a political necessity.
Kaia woke to the distinct sensation of a heavy, calloused thumb tracing the line of her collarbone.
She opened her eyes, blinking against the bright morning sunlight streaming through the high windows of the master bedchamber. Aeron was already awake. He was lying on his side, his head propped on his hand, watching her with a level of intense, focused adoration that felt entirely too heavy for the early hour.
He was completely bare beneath the sheets, the morning light catching the smooth, powerful lines of his shoulders.
"Good morning, My Queen," Aeron murmured, his voice a low, sleep-gravelly vibration that sent a familiar heat pooling in Kaia's stomach.
"Is it morning?" Kaia croaked, her voice wrecked from the sheer volume of screaming she had done against his pillows. "I feel like I've been trampled by a cavalry unit."
