Viserys's fingers slid from Roslin's shoulder down her arm until he took her hand, their fingers intertwining.
His fingertips were warm, his palms bearing the light calluses left by years of wielding a sword. When they brushed the smooth back of Roslin's hand, the touch always gave her a strange sense of reassurance.
Roslin tightened her fingers slightly, returning his grip like someone adrift on a vast ocean who had seized a piece of driftwood and finally managed to steady herself.
She drew a soft breath, as though she wanted to hold both his warmth and his scent in her heart. That scent carried a faint hint of wine mingled with his distinctly masculine smell, making her heart race.
This time, the experience was much better for both of them than before.
Although Roslin was still somewhat unaccustomed to it, the pain had eased considerably. In its place came a sensation she could neither describe nor explain, leaving her whole body soft and pliant. Even the tension she had felt at first had slipped away without her noticing.
She could even clearly feel the slight trembling of her fingertips. It was neither pain nor nervousness, but a flutter deep within her that rippled outward with every touch from Viserys.
Only after a long while did the room gradually fall quiet, leaving nothing but their breathing and the occasional faint creak of the bed.
Moonlight streamed through the Maidenvault's window, spreading a silvery sheen over the bed. It illuminated the patterns on the brocade quilt and outlined their forms as they nestled together.
Roslin rested in Viserys's arms, her cheek against his chest, listening to his strong heartbeat, its rhythm steady and deep,
traveling through his chest to her ear and giving her a sense of security unlike anything she had