The eighth morning came and went with an eerie silence, the kind of silence Soren had never heard before. He woke up before the sun had fully risen, and outside it was still dark. His internal military clock was still ticking, although his body no longer felt it. For a moment, as his eyes blinked open in the dim, cedar-scented room, he forgot. He forgot about Marrow-Pear. He forgot about the King's bed. He'd forgotten about the silver pulse in his bone marrow.
He reached for the side of the bed, ready to jump up and start his morning training, just like he had for years in the freezing cold of the North. He'd been doing that since he was a teenager, and morning training was his favourite.
But instead, he just rolled over.
Just like the thick winter blanket that the maids rolled up at the manor when he finally got back home after months in the camp.
