Hazel woke up warm.

That was first weird thing. She was always cold in slave quarters. Blanket thin, window cracked, wind coming in. Now she was too warm. Furs heavy. Fire still going. Someone must have come in night to feed it.

Second weird thing, weight on her waist.

Alaric's arm. Heavy. Tight. Hand still over her mark like he slept like that all night.

He was awake. Staring at ceiling.

"You didn't sleep," she whispered.

"I slept," he said with rough morning voice, "A little."

"Liar."

He looked down at her. His eyes tired, the cut over his ribs had dried, but not cleaned. Blood crusted.

"You need healer,"...