Waking up was a mixed bag.
On the one hand, she felt immediate disappointment that her idyllic escape was already finished. On the other, the bed in the palace was unquestionably better, and the palace itself was much warmer than the cottage had become during the sudden blizzard.
On the third mutated hand that sprouted out of the mental image of her chest, waking up meant facing the duties she'd slacked off on for a whole week.
Again.
She sighed, and flopped her face back down into the pillow.
Her lovely Knight had his hand gently stroking through her hair, fingertips tracing across her scalp with a soft, soothing warmth that helped alleviate the tension headache she knew would be developing over the day ahead.
His hand was warm.
Soft.
But strong.
Safe.
"Isabelle?" Lyov's voice came as a quiet question, uncertain but curious as his hand paused in its gentle massage.
"I don't want to..."