“Come back to bed,” he said, and I let him guide me back to the sleeping platform we shared, and we climbed under the furs. His arm was still around my shoulders as I curled up close to him, my head resting on his chest. His heart beat calmly, slower than a human’s and quieter, but it beat all the same. I let it lull me to sleep.

Thankfully, the nightmares didn’t come back.

THE COLD SUNLIGHT was filtering in through the glass panes of the window by the time I woke, and I immediately swore. It had to be nearing noon and we’d drastically overslept. Usually I woke up with the sun and then spent the next hour rousing Soren until he finally got up, but obviously I’d been too exhausted from my ordeal last night to do so.

Continuing to swear under my breath, I nudged Soren. He groaned a little and threw an arm over his face.

“Soren, get up.” I nudged a little harder, not wanting to startle him and risk the possibility of a bloody nose. Goblin fast reflexes were not always a blessing.

“Five more minutes,” he moaned and tried to pull the furs over his head.

I yanked them back down. “It’s nearly noon, Soren. We’re late. We’re incredibly late. You’ve got a meeting with the svartelves today. Do you want Donnar to get mad?”

At the word “svartelves,” his eyes shot open and I quickly got out of the way as he sprung to a sitting position. “Fuck,” he said. “Shit.” He looked at the sunlight gleaming through the window. “Fuck,” he said again. “Shit.”

“Your vocabulary continues to astound me,” I deadpanned, already up and dressing for the day. The room we shared in the Erlking’s palace was much bigger than either of our rooms had been back at Soren’s manor, though it was as sparsely furnished. Soren and I decided to get rid of most of the decorations and trappings when we moved in. Soren’s statement long ago about the Erlking’s palace sorely needing redecoration had not been wrong.

“Someone’s cheeky this morning,” he said as he joined me in the rush to get ready. He turned toward the mirror as he raked his hair with his hands before swearing when he realized it was broken. “How’s my hair look?”

I gave him a withering look. “Soren, your hair always looks perfect.” The white locks were shorter now after they’d been burned during the final fight with Lydian, reaching a little bit past his ears. Too short for traditional long braids, he wore it all in a single braid atop his scalp. To my great ire, he never woke up with bedhead, no matter how disheveled the rest of his appearance was in the morning. In comparison, it took me at least a half hour to be presentable.