Chapter 30: THE MORNING OF A KING (1) (VARZIEL’S POV)
Varziel held his queen in his hands, letting her drift off to sleep. He had gathered her into his arms, cradling her against his chest as if she were something fragile. His expression softened as he brushed a lock of blonde hair from her face. He could feel his face just flushing from the sight of her in his arms, in his bed. A few months ago, he had almost given up on having her. Now that she was in his arms, he wanted more. Calling his name was not going to be enough anymore.
He lay his bare back on the headboard, his hands absentmindedly trailing figures on Arella’s arm. Firelight danced around them, casting long shadows on the wall, and even in the painful darkness, an unfamiliar sense of peace settled over him. "You’re mine now," he muttered to the silent room, "just as I am yours forever." He was sure that her sleeping figure could not hear his silent declaration, but his heart thumped as he silently wished that perhaps she did hear his words.
However, her deep breaths destroyed that wish.
He flicked his hand, using his power to pull the blanket over them. After being fully settled in, he sunk into the warmth her body provided, allowing himself to fall asleep as well.
...
Varziel woke up with a start.
His heart pounded in his chest, and sweat dotted his forehead. The sun had yet to rise in the horizon, and the fire in the hearth had long died out, leaving the room shrouded in darkness. The only light came from the moon, which lit the room with a ghostly hue. They had, at some point during the previous day, opened the curtain to let some light in, but had been too busy during the night to close it.
Arella’s leg was hooked lightly over his waist, and her arm was draped over his chest. She took in deep breaths, obviously still asleep. The blanket had slipped down to their waist leaving her wings as the only thing covering their upper bodies.
Unable to go back to sleep, Varziel pulled Arella to a more comfortable position as he simply gazed up at the ceiling. He was sure it was around four in the morning. That was the time his nightmares always woke him. The nightmare had already become a faded memory. He could never quite remember what nightmares plagued him—even though they always woke him in the middle of the night.