The next morning, Damian rose before the sun had fully climbed over the cottage spires. After freshening up and dressing in a clean set of clothes, he made his way to the quiet corridor to Roman's room.
"Your Grace, the young master is still asleep," the maid whispered as she met him at the door.
"I would like to check on him," Damian replied. The maid nodded and carefully turned the handle, easing the door open without a sound.
Damian stepped into the dim room, where the air was still and smelled faintly of lavender. Roman was a tangle of limbs in the center of the large bed; his favorite soft toy had tumbled onto the floor, and one small leg had kicked free of the duvet.
Damian moved to the bedside, the floorboards barely creaking under his boots. He lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his son's chest.
