After months of loneliness, of paranoia and fear, Morgana awoke slowly, not with a pounding heart and fluttering chest, but with a feeling of remarkable peace. The bed was warm and welcoming, and Mace was close, breathing steadily, his arm draped across her shoulder. Her eyes flickered open, taking in the thick fabric of the bed curtains, and the dull glow of daylight in the room beyond. But the wider world wasn’t what she wanted. Everything she wanted was within the area of the mattress, which had never felt so comfortable. Smiling to herself, she shuffled down a little, further under the blankets, and closed her eyes again, matching her breathing to Mace’s.

Someone knocked on the chamber door, and the noise was followed by a growl of protest on her left. Morgana sighed as the door was pushed ajar, and someone tiptoed into the room. She laced her fingers through his and pushed herself back and closer to him, enjoying the solid feeling of his chest against her back.

On the other side of the curtain, the maid put their breakfast tray down on her sideboard and hurried away, closing the door behind her with a brusque snap.

Morgana was in no rush to eat. She lay still, enjoying the stillness.

“This is nice,” she sighed, sensing his wakefulness. And it wasn’t like after their wedding, when they knew they’d have to leave earth and travel back to Shaman, him to the forest, her to the castle. They could wake up like this on any morning they chose.

It had been worth the long, painful wait.

He shifted, and she turned, looking at him over her shoulder.

“Ah-ah!” she scolded, sitting up a little and pushing his back down onto the bed with a firm hand. “I’ll get it,” she smiled, “you’re on holiday.”

Morgana opened the curtains on her side of the bed a little way, and folded back the covers, slipping out into the daylight. The morning air was fresh and cold against her bare skin, and she suppressed a shiver. Bending down, she retrieved her silk robe from the floor, and pulled it on.

“Whilst I do that,” she told Mace with a teasing smile, “you have a think about what you’d like to do with the rest of the day. Your holiday, your choice.”

Her smile became a grin as she moved away from the bed and skirted across the room. She picked up the tray and hurried back, slipping back through the curtains, onto her knees. Morgana set the tray on the bed between them, slipped back beneath the covers and collected it again, setting it on her lap.

“So,” she said brightly, looking down at the spread, “what do you fancy?”