Meanwhile, within the quiet walls of the master bedroom, she stood by the tall French windows, wrapped in a thin night robe that rested easily over her hourglass frame. Her arms were folded, her posture still, her gaze fixed on the stretch of night beyond the glass as though she were looking past it, into something deeper.
The room was silent, but her mind clearly wasn't.
"Can't sleep?"
Damien's voice came from behind, low and unhurried. His bare feet made soft contact with the floor as he walked toward her, closing the distance without hesitation. His arms slipped around her waist, pulling her gently back against him as he rested his chin on her shoulder, his face nuzzling into the crook of her neck.
She didn't turn.
"Neither can they," she said quietly.
His lips brushed against her short hair. "Who? Drogo?"
"Both of them."
Her hand lifted, fingertips pressing lightly against the glass as if she could feel something beyond it.
