The pale and soft morning light crept through the window of Rowan's chambers. Aria lay still beneath the heavy blankets, her head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. His arm was draped across her waist, his hand splayed protectively over the slight swell of her stomach. The bump wasn't visible yet—not to anyone else—but Rowan touched her there constantly, as if he could already feel the life growing beneath his palm. "You're awake," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. "How do you always know?" "Your breathing changes." He pressed a kiss to her hair. "Also, you stopped snoring." "I don't snore." "You do. It's very soft. Like a small, contented bear." She swatted his chest. He caught her hand and held it there, over his heart. They had spent more nights together than apart now. It had happened gradually—her staying later in his study, falling asleep on the couch while he reviewed patrol reports, waking to find herself carried to his bed. After
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