The storm had quieted between them.
Daphne's gaze lingered on him.
His features were sharp as ever, but weariness and exhaustion clung to him like a second skin.
She frowned.
"You look so tired," she said gently. "Did you sleep at all last night?"
"How could I sleep," he asked quietly, "when you were out of my reach?"
Her heart softened instantly.
She reached for him. "I'm sorry, Alaric."
He leaned closer, the tension in his shoulders easing only slightly at her touch.
She hesitated for a moment, then whispered, "Let me help you wash. You need to rest, Ric."
His brows rose faintly in surprise, but he said nothing, only nodded once.
Steam curled in the bath as Daphne worked the cloth over his shoulders, down the planes of his chest.
The intimacy wasn't new, but it was different now, softer, yet tensed.
He closed his eyes briefly, letting out a sigh.
"You don't have to do this," he murmured.
"I want to," she answered.
