Liam woke because he was too hot.
For one confused, half-asleep second, he thought Marin's ward had malfunctioned and decided that recovery required slow roasting. Then he realized the heat was not coming from the ward, the blankets, or the room's climate system.
It was coming from Arik.
Liam opened his eyes.
He was lying half on top of Arik, one arm trapped between them, cheek pressed against the prince's chest, his legs tangled in the sheets because apparently at some point in the night his recovering body had decided self-worth was optional and Arik was furniture.
Very hot furniture.
Arik's skin burned beneath him.
Liam blinked, then lifted his head.
Arik was deeply asleep.
That alone was alarming.
Arik did not sleep like normal people. He rested like the weapon he was: beautiful, dangerous, and clearly prepared to hurt someone if necessary. Even when exhausted, some part of him stayed aware.
Now, he did not stir at all.
