Charles slowly opened his eyes, his body nestled deep in the soft, warm quilt.
He paused for a second. It was only when he didn't feel the familiar sway of a ship that he remembered he had been back on shore for several days.
The smooth, delicate body that had been in his arms was gone. It seemed Anna had gotten up early.
Charles yawned lazily. Inhaling the faint fragrance lingering on the pillow beside him, he closed his eyes again. He felt so comfortable; he wanted to drift back to sleep.
Unfortunately, old habits die hard. The old Charles never had the bad habit of sleeping in, and he couldn't seem to pick it up now.
He lifted the covers and stood up. Still in his pajamas, he walked over to the balcony and looked out at the bustling street beyond the Governor's Mansion's iron gates.
The Hope Island Navy fleet had returned to port. With the collective memorial for the war dead now over, the conflict's influence on Hope Island was gradually fading.
