Arlon opened his eyes slowly.
The world felt soft. Warm. Too warm.
Something smooth ran through his hair in a rhythmic, almost maternal motion. It wasn't the sterile feeling of magic or the cold press of stone. It was skin. Fingers. A hand.
His head was resting on someone's lap.
Agema's lap.
Before he even had time to react, her voice reached him.
"Are you awake now?"
He froze.
Then, almost violently, he raised his head. His body straightened in a panic, and he stood up in one swift motion.
Too swift. His balance faltered for a moment, and the blood rushed to his face like a spell misfiring.
He didn't say anything at first. He couldn't. He was too busy trying not to die of embarrassment.
How long had she been letting him sleep like that?
"How long has it been?" he asked, voice more controlled than he felt.
Agema smiled. Her posture hadn't changed. She sat there, legs folded to the side, hands resting calmly on her lap now that his head wasn't occupying the space.
