The threat of a civil war looming in the Eastern Marches was a problem for the King of Arindale.
But for the next three hours, Aeron Valdamar had absolutely no intention of being a King.
The morning sun filtered through the soaring, arched windows of the newly unified super-suite. Aeron was awake, lying on his side, his head propped on his hand as he watched Kaia sleep.
She was buried in the center of the massive bed, the charcoal velvet sheets pooled at her waist. Her silver hair was spread across the dark pillows like spun moonlight. Her breathing was deep and even, a soft, rhythmic sound that was infinitely more calming to Aeron than the silence of any sanctuary he had ever visited.
He didn't want to move. He didn't want to summon his generals or review Lady Elara's spy reports. He just wanted to look at his wife.
