Somewhere between unconsciousness and the smell of whatever the hell he'd put in that bath, Guinevere Drakencrest rejoined the living.
The first thing she registered was cold. An icepack against her neck. Wonderful.
The second thing that registered was Maddox.
"There she is." His thumb traced her cheekbone. "Morning, baby."
Her face went hot immediately. The blush arrived before a single coherent thought did, her body's priorities apparently being: step one, turn scarlet in front of the Dragon King, step two, figure out where she was, step three, maybe remember her own name at some point if there was time.
She blinked at the ceiling. Wrong ceiling. Wrong walls. Wrong light. This was not their chambers. But there were more pillows and she appreciated that.
