Eric had been dreaming about a nice, warm meal when his door flew open followed by footsteps that jolted him awake. Heavy, angry footsteps that could only belong to one person.
He cracked one eye open and immediately regretted it.
Without saying a word, Leofric began pacing his room like a caged animal, back and forth. His shoulders were so stiff they might as well have been carved from stone. The dim lamplight caught the tension in his jaw, the way his hands kept clenching and unclenching at his sides.
"Oh, for the love of—" Eric groaned, pulling his pillow over his face. "Do you know what time it is?"
The pacing didn't stop.
Eric counted to ten. Then twenty. By thirty, he gave up and threw the pillow aside. "If you keep doing that, you'll wear a hole straight through my floor. And then you'll fall into the kitchen, and the Cook will murder us both."
