The morning light filtered through the frost-laden windowpanes. The air was crisp with the chill of winter, seeping through the cracks in the walls.
Ingrid stirred beneath the covers, her eyelids fluttering open as she slowly emerged from the depths of sleep. A dull ache throbbed between her thighs, a lingering reminder of the passion she had shared with Caym the night before.
"How are you feeling, Your Highness?" Christine's voice broke through the quietude, the clinking of porcelain against porcelain signaling the pouring of tea.
Ingrid turned her gaze towards her maid, still nestled snugly beneath her blanket. "Christine," she greeted softly, her voice tinged with weariness. "I think I'll stay in bed a while longer."
"Alright, Your Highness," Christine replied.
