Summer shifted around until there was space for him to sit on the edge of the narrow bed. One hand crept out to loop over his arm. ”Thank you,” she whispered. She watched Henry pick up the book, watched his mouth shape the words, drowned in his voice until her eyes slipped closed again. “Love you,” she sighed, almost inaudible in the edges of sleep.
Henry could see that she was falling asleep, so his voice lowered as he read the book in his hand, when her eyes closed he heard it, that which he had thought he would not hear so soon from her – though he had already known of it.
He turned to her, her eyes closed, and seemingly asleep.
All conscious thought told him that he should leave, that he should leave the room and let her rest, but his body told him otherwise and he leaned over and gently kissed her on the lips.
She kissed him back, a low chuckle escaping her throat, then sighed happily and cuddled into her pillow, dropping into true sleep.
Summer woke the next morning still thinking the evening had been a dream. The weight of it lay heavily on her shoulders. She snapped at Bertha, shouted at the chambermaid until the girl cried, and finally stalked off in bristling anger and despair toward the stables. She flung herself ahorse as soon as she decently could, goading the animal into a gallop the moment they emerged from the castle gates. Surely no one would bother her out here.
She’d neglected to take into account Henry’s morning ride, though.