Her entire body went rigid.
That familiar scent... Cedarwood, cold and clean, tinged with the faint metallic trace of blood.
"Rhaegar?"
He did not answer. Instead, he buried his face deeper into the hollow of her neck, his breathing heavy, each slow exhale brushing hot against her skin.
Caelith let out a quiet breath of relief. "When did you return? Why did you not light the lamp?"
Still, he said nothing. He only tightened his hold around her waist.
At once, she sensed something was wrong. Turning within his embrace, she looked up at him in the darkness.
She could not make out his features clearly—only those eyes, impossibly bright in the night, like embers smoldering beneath ash.
"Rhaegar... what is the matter?"
At last, he spoke, but his voice was hoarse, threaded with exhaustion. "Where did you go today?"
Caelith paused for a moment before answering. "I visited the Ostenton residence. Lord Ostenton Senior invited me to dinner to thank me for saving him years ago."
