"ARGH… DAMN IT!"
Cherion broke the surface of sleep with a violent, soul-shuddering gasp. His lungs burned, as if he'd been submerged in sub-zero water for a decade, and his eyes snapped open to find a ceiling he actually recognized. For a terrifying, disorienting second, he expected the suffocating smell of Royal lavender and the sight of itchy, lace-trimmed sleeves. He braced himself for the cold cobblestones of a training yard and the high, piping voice of a child who didn't know he was a walking tragedy.
Instead? Softness.
He was sinking into a mattress that felt like a cloud made of expensive goose down.
I'm back. The thought screamed in his head. He didn't even pause for air before diving into a frantic check of himself. He threw the heavy blanket aside, his hands, his wonderful, long-fingered, adult hands, trembling as he did a mental inventory.
