Aurelia escaped down the vaulted stone hallway, her silk skirts whispering softly against the polished floorboards, a light, triumphant smile gracing her lips. Once she had put a safe distance between herself and the chamber doors—and the overly demanding, ravenous husband behind them—she stopped near a high arched window overlooking the lower gardens and exhaled a long, heavy sigh of relief.
It had been three days since their return from the dark turmoil of the Black Forest, and ever since, Valerian had tried with relentless, unyielding persistence to have her move her belongings permanently into his eastern wing of the keep.
Aurelia, however, had deftly evaded every single attempt. She preferred the high, light-flooded chambers of the Queen's chambers, where the morning sun hit the balcony first. Moreover, knowing full well the underlying reason for his sudden urgency to keep her so remarkably close, she valued what precious little undisrupted sleep she could still claim.
