(Rosaline POV)
I wake to warmth.
That is the first thing I notice.
Not pain.
Not sound.
Not light.
Warmth.
It presses gently against my skin, wraps around my body, seeps into my bones in a way that feels distant and unfamiliar—as if I have been cold for so long that I had forgotten what warmth truly feels like.
My lashes flutter.
The world comes slowly.
Soft.
Blurred.
Golden.
The ceiling above me is not my study chamber.
It is higher.
Broader.
Familiar.
Arthur's chamber.
The realization comes quietly, like snow settling rather than falling.
My breath catches faintly.
I try to move.
My body protests immediately.
A sharp heaviness drags through my limbs, as though every ounce of strength I once held has been poured out and left somewhere I cannot reach.
Still—
I push.
Because I always push.
My hand tightens against the sheets.
I try to sit up.
The room tilts.
A soft voice cuts through the haze.
"Do not."
It is not loud.
Not sharp.
