Chapter 18

Dominic:

The clock on the far wall had long since passed midnight, though the fire still burned low in the hearth. I sat at my desk, a glass half-filled with whiskey beside a stack of reports I wasn’t reading.

The room was quiet except for the faint crackle of wood and the slow rhythm of her breathing.

She was asleep, or so I thought.

When she stirred, I didn’t look up. Then came her voice, low and rough from sleep. “What time is it?”

I turned slightly in the chair. The lamplight caught her hair where it spilled over the pillow. “Late,” I said. “Go back to sleep. I doubt that anyone would be out the door to escort you to the slaves’ hall if you try to think about it.”

“You’re still awake,” she murmured, pushing herself upright. “Shouldn’t you be asleep if it’s that late?”

“I have work.” I took a sip from the glass, eyes on the page I hadn’t turned in ten minutes. “Don’t worry about it. I normally don’t rise early anyway.”

I heard the rustle of sheets, then soft footsteps across the fl