"I know the war is getting to you, but that is your wife," Azriel said, indignant. "You're lucky to have a woman to ease the stress of these times, and one who loves you."
Love. Love. Love.
Would he be able to ever bring it into his present ever again?
....
Three maids stood by the bedside as Freya eased herself off the bed. The doctor had recommended movements at that point of her healing, and when she had started, Freya found it a real task to walk without pain spreading through her till it felt like her limbs burned with fire.
Zavian had had maids assigned to help her when it got tough and to follow her around the castle, but Freya would never have them do that. The maids knew that, so they kept their distance as she pushed herself off the bed, and gave a satisfied grunt.
Her door barged open, and she threw her hands in the air.
"Stop walking in like you own the place," she hissed at the intruder.
