Aveline slowly lifted her head and met his eyes.
Those beautiful dark eyes drew her in like the depths of a quiet sea, familiar and comforting no matter how stormy her own heart became.
Then she noticed something else.
He was fully dressed.
Not in the simple clothes he usually wore when he slipped into her room at night, but in traveling attire. His cloak was fastened neatly over his shoulders, sturdy boots reaching nearly to his knees, and a sword rested at his side.
She blinked.
"You're dressed for travel."
Her voice was still hoarse from crying.
"Are you going somewhere?"
Theron's hand slid gently to the side of her neck, his thumb caressing her cheek with infinite tenderness.
"I was just about to leave."
His fingers brushed away the last dampness beneath her eyes.
"I'll be accompanying the first shipments of cotton. Lord Sylvarien will oversee the distribution among the provincial lords, and they'll ensure it reaches those in need before winter worsens."
