The Festival was over for the night, and Aragon was heading back to the room. His Robe was draped across his shoulders, and his hair had been set loose and running down his hard-muscled back. It had been a good night indeed, but he was worried about one thing, and that was specifically why he had asked Felix himself to guard the room and report to him immediately if someone tries any shit tonight.
"She's inside, your Majesty" Felix reported and moved out of the way, letting Aragon walk into the room.
And there was his wife. She had once again fallen asleep on the couch, but this time she wasn't reading a book. She was lying in one of those strange positions that looked like she was trying to protect herself from something, and even in her sleep, she was gently rubbing the wristband. He has always wondered what was so important to her about the mere clothing, and he was planning to ask her so very soon.
