Chapter 51
Amryn
Forthefirsttimesince arriving at the capital, Amryn woke with Carver still in their bed. She knew this, because she was plastered to his side, his arm around her back, his hand settled against the curve of her waist. Her head was tucked in the curve of his shoulder, and her hand was spread against the heated skin of his bare chest. She could feel the rise and fall of each even breath, and the steady beating of his heart. Her other hand was curled against his warm side, pinned between them.
She knew he was awake. His thumb was tracing a slow circle against her side, his emotions—while peaceful—were too alert to denote sleep. Amryn didn’t know how long he’d been awake, but the sun was streaming through the balcony doors, telling her it was past the hour he usually rose.
Her cheeks flushed as awareness crept in. Because not only was she curled up against him, she was partially on top of him—including her leg, which was crooked over his. Her breath hitched.
She’d pinned him to the bed.
“Good morning,” Carver said, his voice husky from disuse.
She drew back her leg, her face fully blazing now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
His arm tightened around her, keeping her from squirming away. “Stay.”
“But I . . .” Saints, she didn’t even know how to verbalize it.I’m sorry I didn’t give you a bit of space and all but attacked you, making it so you couldn’t leavethe bed.
“This isn’t the first time,” Carver told her. “I’ve woken to you in my arms just like this every morning we’ve shared this bed.”
Her head snapped up, her eyes wide. “You—You have?”
He was lying back on his pillow, a lazy sort of smile on his face, his blue eyes at half-mast. He tipped his chin. “Everymorning.” His eyes searched her face. “You’ve made it bloody difficult to get out of bed, sweetheart.”
Her mouth opened and closed as she struggled with the revelation that she’d been latching onto him for weeks without knowing it. “I’m sorry,” she finally said.
Carver lifted one eyebrow. “You think I want an apology?”
She hesitated, briefly reading his emotions. He was filled with contentment. A peace she hadn’teverfelt from him, actually. And stirring just beneath that was . . .
Her blush deepened. “I don’t think you mind,” she managed to say.
He grinned, his expression softening as he studied her face. “No,” he whispered. “I don’t mind. In fact, I love waking up like this. So much so, I couldn’t force myself to move this morning.” His voice lowered further as he said, “Especially after last night.”
Memories filtered in, spreading warmth through her body. It had easily been the best night of her life, though recalling everything they’d shared in the light of day made her a little self-conscious. Still, she had no regrets. Only a perfect happiness.
Carver resumed tracing those soothing circles against her side, warming her skin beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown. “I need to thank you again,” he said softly. “For not touching me while I was having that nightmare.”
It had been difficult to move away from him when he was in such torment. To leave their bed, and him, when he’d cringed and reached out, as if trying to find her in the darkness. “It wasn’t easy,” she admitted softly.
His hold on her tightened. “I’m sorry. But I’ve been terrified of hurting you when I’m . . . not myself. So, thank you for keeping yourself safe.” He suddenly frowned. “I’ll have to speak with the guards, though. They should have heard me and come in—”
“They did,” Amryn said. “Before you woke.”
Carver’s shock was quickly followed by a rush of discomfort, tinged with embarrassment.
Amryn pressed her fingers against his chest. “I made them leave right away. And you woke up soon after.” She hesitated, then asked, “What do you think brought on the nightmare?”
“I don’t know.” His brow furrowed. “Sometimes there isn’t a reason.”
She hated that they could strike without warning. It was probably one of the reasons Carver struggled to sleep.
“My nightmares have been worse since losing Argent,” he admitted. “I keep seeing him in Harvari with me, being tortured. He begs me for help, and I can’t do anything to stop his pain. He . . . blames me.”
Her heart ached. “Argent would never blame you for what happened to him.”
“I know.”
