A Dove's Tale

Chapter 72

I woke up gradually, warm and comfortable, feeling refreshed and rested for the first time in weeks. The mattress was so soft it felt like I was lying on air. I shifted slightly, enjoying the cozy blankets, the sweet smell of roses, the strong arms wrapped around me...

My eyes snapped open, and there, inches away from me on the pillow, was Prince Chevalier's sleeping face. And I was using him as a pillow. My hand was next to my cheek on his chest, and I suddenly remembered the dream, remembered curling my fingers into his shirt, and I realized it hadn't been a dream. Embarrassment flooded my face with heat. I carefully lifted myself off of him and tried to ease out of his arms, but he pulled me closer.

"Where do you think you're going?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

"Prince Chevalier, I-I shouldn't be here," I stammered.

He sighed and rolled over onto his side, nuzzling into my hair. "Go back to sleep," he muttered.

My heart was pounding uncontrollably. I was hyper-aware of him surrounding me, his breath on my neck, his heart beating against mine, and I pushed back from him. "Prince Chevalier-"

He groaned irritably, and his arms loosened as he pulled back to settle his cheek on the pillow. His crystal blue eyes opened and met mine.

"You couldn't let me sleep in today."

"T-today?" I asked hesitantly.

He nodded and removed one hand from my back to brush my hair behind my ear. "You fell asleep yesterday morning, Ivetta."

I didn't know which stunned me more: the news that I'd been asleep for twenty-four hours, or him using my name again. It took me a moment to realize his finger was tracing around the back of my ear to my jaw, down to my chin, and his eyes were following its path intently. I stared at him in silence, unable to move or even breathe as my heart beat a frantic rhythm against my ribs. His thumb brushed across my lips, and he cupped my cheek in his hand, his eyes flicking back up to mine. He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing, and he muttered, "The gala is over for you, anyway."

Then he opened his eyes and leaned in to kiss me.

His lips were soft and warm against mine, his kiss gentle and brief, and I think my heart exploded. When he pulled back, his face had relaxed, and a smile curved at the corners of his lips.

"Good morning, Ivetta."

I swallowed hard, words failing me as he settled back against the pillow, his gaze fond and his thumb stroking my cheek.

"You didn't want to stay home," he said quietly.

The reminder of the empty house, that empty bed, brought a lump to my throat, and I shook my head, burying my face in his chest. He held me close and stroked my hair while the tears fell down my cheeks again. I didn't know how there could be any more, after the amount I'd cried the past two days, but there was no stopping them.

"What am I supposed to do now?" I finally asked in a choked voice when the tears ended and all that remained was a hole in my chest.

"You don't have to do anything," he replied soothingly. "I have it all under control."

I nodded and turned my head to the side, resting my cheek against his damp shirt and closing my eyes, letting my thoughts fade away in the comfort of his embrace. His arm around my shoulders, his hand tight on my upper arm; his fingers threading through my hair, free from the ribbon, whether from it coming undone while I slept or from him untying it, I didn't know; the steady rise and fall of his chest with his breath as mine gradually evened out. Nothing made sense anymore, but here, for a little while, that didn't matter.