The first thing Jocelynn knew was warmth.
Not the cold, frozen earth of the Enchanted Grove or the burning agony of roots tearing through her wrists. This was a soft, golden warmth. The warmth of a fire crackling in a hearth and candles burning low. The scent of beeswax and rosewater filled the air along with something sweet that she couldn't quite place.
Hesitantly, afraid of what she might find, Jocelynn opened her eyes to take stock of her situation.
Candlelight flickered across walls hung with tapestries in Lothian blue and yellow. A great canopied bed stood at the center of the room with its curtains drawn back and rose petals strewn across the duvet. A fire burned in a broad stone hearth, and a pair of silver goblets waited beside a flagon of wine on a small table by the window.
Jocelynn knew this room.
