The first light of dawn filtered through the fabric of the tent, painting the interior in soft, grey tones. Julian was already awake, his mind cataloging the day's priorities as it always did.
Fey was still asleep, curled against his side, her blue hair fanned out across his arm and the pillow. Her usual lazy smirk was absent, replaced by a peaceful, unguarded expression. The faint, intricate lines of the Womb Tattoo were just visible on her lower abdomen, a permanent mark of the previous night's union.
As he moved to extricate himself, Fey stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of confusion before the memory of the night before settled in, bringing a slow, deep blush to her cheeks. She didn't pull away, instead stretching like a contented cat, a soft, satisfied groan escaping her lips.
"Morning," she murmured, her voice husky with sleep.
