Faint gray light seeped in through the narrow window across from the bed. I wasn’t at the inn, being ripped and torn into. I was in the keep, in bed, with a warm, hard chest against my cheek, a hand that continuously smoothed over my hair, a voice that whispered my name over and over, telling me it was okay, promising me that it was safe. I was nestled in his lap, held tightly to his chest as if he tried to keep the tremors at bay with his hold alone. Casteel.
cryinggggg
