Amelia
When I open my eyes, I’m no longer in the dungeon. I’m in my room, in my bed, morning light filtering in past my drawn curtains.
A thumb strokes comforting circles on my back, and I realize how hard my normally soft bed feels. Until I realize that instead of my pillow, my head rests on a strong, bare chest.
I breathe in as I try to make sense of my surroundings, the smell of right before it rains and chestnuts filling my nose. My hand is splayed lazily across a hard plane of abs beneath the sheet.
I tilt my head to look up at honey brown eyes beneath close-cropped brown hair, and Prince Owen’s long, elegant fingers tuck a lock of hair behind my ear, our mouths only an inch apart.
“Did you rest well?” he asks affectionately, as if it’s normal for us to be in bed together. I
