Morning light filtered through the heavy velvet drapes, casting thin golden bars across the bed where Mehera slept. She lay on her stomach, one arm stretched above her head, the other tucked beneath her cheek. The silk sheets had pooled around her waist, leaving her back bare to the cool air of the chamber. Her dark hair spilled across the pillows like a river of ink, and even in sleep, her lips remained slightly parted, swollen from the hours of use he had put them to before dawn.

Kabir stood at the window, fully dressed in his riding leathers, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched her breathe. He had not slept. He never slept deeply anymore, not since she had come into his possession. The need to watch her, to guard her, to assure himself that she was real and warm and his alone had become a compulsion that overrode his body’s need for rest.