Towards bedtime, Lord Rhaegal sat on the couch, a stack of documents in his hands, the quiet scratching of his pen breaking the stillness of the chamber. On the bed, Malin lay curled around a pillow, his body taut, eyes heavy and blurred from exhaustion. Sleep tugged at him, but he fought it stubbornly, his jaw tight with determination.
The earlier sight of Rhaegal's scorched skin still haunted him. The thought of his power lashing out again, of harming the one person who stayed by his side, gnawed at his chest. He was determined to stay awake, no matter how his body begged for rest.
But sleep was winning.
Rhaegal finally turned, his sharp gaze softening as he caught the faint strain in Malin's reddened eyes. A subtle crease formed between his brows.
"Are you unwell?" His deep voice broke the silence as he set the papers aside.
Malin shook his head stiffly, trying to muster composure. "I'm fine."
