Propping herself up slightly, she turned to study him from an angle she'd never seen before.
Alaric always slept later than her and woke up earlier—it was a habit ingrained by his profession, a discipline she had grown used to. Yet, seeing him like this, so still and peaceful in the soft morning light, was a rare sight. His posture was straight, almost rigid, as if discipline followed him even in sleep.
Not like me, Emerald mused. She never felt secure enough to sleep without holding onto something—whether it was a pillow, a blanket, or, more recently, him.
And somehow, even in sleep, he had adjusted for her.
One of his arms was tucked behind her head, holding her close, while his other hand covered hers. Their fingers overlapped perfectly, their wedding rings touching, as if even unconscious, he was anchoring her to him.
A warmth spread through her chest.
