The morning light had grown brighter, spilling through the window in waves of gold and rose, painting the study in warm hues that seemed to push back the last remnants of the long night's darkness. Dust motes danced in the sunbeams, and the air was thick with the scent of old parchment and woodsmoke. The fire was dead, the embers cold, but the room was warm, warm with the heat of their bodies pressed together on the window seat and warm with the love that had been spoken and reaffirmed in the quiet hours before dawn.
Kaelen's words still hung in the air between them, heavy and sharp, a blade suspended over their hearts.
"Then let me die for you again, if that is what fate demands."
Rosalind pulled back, her hands on his chest, pushing away just enough to look at him. Her eyes were bright with tears, but there was something else in them now, something fierce, something determined, something that looked like fire burning beneath the surface of her skin.
"No."
