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I slammed back into reality, waking to the light scent of cinnamon and embers. The world dark around me.

I could hear Adrian breathing as his chest lifted and fell steadily, deep in slumber.

I felt across my lips and chest, checking for stitching and blood.

Vomit rushed up the back of my throat, and before I could stop it, I threw up all over my mother’s quilt.

Adrian woke quickly, grabbing my hair carefully, lifting it from my face.

I threw up again, convulsing with nerves as I emptied my stomach all over both our laps.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, wiping my mouth with his hand. The acidity of the bile causing my teeth to ache. “Do you think you got it all out?”

I shook violently. “I think so,” I whispered hoarsely.

“Stay here.” He rose from the bed and darted out of the bedroom door.

A minute later he held a glass of water and a folded quilt underneath his arm, green and white floral print this time.

He handed me the water, urging me to drink while he cleaned up the mess I’d made.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yes,” I said, embarrassed.

“Don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t feel whatever way you’re feeling right now.” He lifted the fresh quilt in front of my face. “All better now, nice and clean.”

I buried my face in my hands. “Thank you.”

“Bad dream? Or is Callum’s cooking to blame for this?”

I laughed quietly, my nausea subsiding. “Bad dream.”

“Want to talk about it?”

I thought of his head between my legs. “Not really.”

He half smiled in the low light, trying to ease my embarrassment. “Think you can fall back asleep?”

I nodded, surprisingly exhausted from the dream.

“Come here,” he said, draping the new quilt over the both of us, discarding the wrecked one onto the floor.

I didn’t protest when he pulled me down onto him, my head resting against his chest. His bare skin hot like a sauna.

“Rest, Princess,” he murmured, his fingers playing at my hair. “It was only a dream.”

I woke a little while later, stirring but never opening my eyes.

Just outside the bedroom door I could hear my mother’s voice, whispering gently, “You should tell her. She should know what she means to you.”

A deep sigh, followed by Adrian’s hushed voice, was almost enough to wake me fully. “You know I can’t, Theodora.” He sounded regretful. “I will tell her . . . when the time is right.”

I tried to listen for my mother’s response, but tiredness weighed too much. I couldn’t fight it. I drifted away from their voices, relaxing back into the peaceful realm of sleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

BRYN