Liam woke slowly.
Not because the suppressants were dragging him under anymore. That awful haze had finally retreated during the night, leaving his mind sharp again instead of wrapped in cotton and instinct.
No.
He woke slowly because he was warm.
Suspiciously warm.
For one peaceful second, Liam simply existed there beneath heavy blankets, breathing in soft traces of saint's breath, clean fabric, and the deep cedar scent that now felt alarmingly tied to safety in his brain.
Then awareness arrived.
Arik's arm was around his waist. The Crown Prince of Agaron slept like a man securing strategic territory during wartime.
Liam was trapped.
He opened one eye carefully.
Morning light spilled softly through the curtains, pale gold against the modern glass walls of the suite. The ether lamps had dimmed automatically with sunrise, leaving only a faint blue line glowing along the baseboards.
Beside him, Arik was deeply asleep.
Which felt unnatural.
