The ceiling of the Duke's bedchamber was, frankly, far more intricate than Cherion remembered. He lay there, tracing the dark grain of the heavy oak beams with his eyes, was that a carved wolf or just a very aggressive knot in the wood?, and felt a strange sense of déjà vu.
And there they were, holding hands again. Cherion could practically feel his energy flowing straight into Zarius.
It had been what? Weeks? Centuries? Time had a funny way of melting when you were busy trying not to die in a foreign dimension. He took a breath, intending to shift onto his side to find a pocket of mattress that didn't feel like it was made of judgmental granite, and immediately regretted every life choice he'd ever made.
"Hnnn-gh."
"You sound like a man who has seen a century of winters," Zarius's voice cutting through the quiet. Cherion seriously debated: throw a pillow? Faint dramatically? Maybe both at the same time.
