Mikhailis kept his breathing slow, calm—an actor lying motionless after the curtain fall—yet inside his ribs his heart drummed like festival taiko. She is still here… five steps away…
A soft creak of leather, then the faint jingle of a sword‑belt unhooked. Cerys padded across the carpet, her boots silent hunters. Warm lamplight trimmed her silhouette; red ponytail a flick of flame, shoulders squared beneath travel‑stained cuirass.
"Sleeping beauty." The words brushed his ear, velvety and teasing. Breath warmed the shell, sent a shiver down his spine. A fingertip traced the edge of his jaw, slow enough that each millimetre felt counted.
Steady… keep steady.
"If you won't wake," she whispered, lips almost touching his lobe, "I'll have to wake you myself."
