The following morning.
When Rosalind woke, the space beside her had long grown cold. Dorian was no longer there.
But she wasn't surprised.
He had always been an early riser, often vanishing before the sun rose. As if he had never truly left a trace behind.
Even though they had been living together for months now, she and Dorian still hadn't truly shared a full night's rest together.
Their relationship was perhaps something she couldn't quite define.
Not overly passionate, yet never truly distant either.
But it was enough for anyone looking in from the outside to understand just how much the Duke of Valemont cherished his wife.
She shifted slightly beneath the covers, her gaze drifting unconsciously to the misted window.
A worn cloth doll, resting on the table near the windowsill, suddenly caught her eye.
It was a simple gift, but a meaningful one, given to her during a recent visit to the newly settled immigrants in Everfrost.
