Romina sat curled in an oversized couch near the hearth, legs tucked beneath her. Her eyes traced the words of a leather-bound tome she'd borrowed from Cassandra's private collection—a romance novel, judging from the occasional blush that crept to her cheeks. Though she appeared absorbed in her book, her glances often darted to the bed.
Shennong lay there, wrapped in light sheets, bandages still hugging his legs beneath the covers. His chest rose and fell slowly, eyes half-lidded, lost somewhere between discomfort and recovery. Despite his efforts to rest, he was very much aware of the woman seated right next to him.
Cassandra.
Poised, silent, and radiant in the sunlight, the noblewoman sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting in her lap, the other gently curled on the sheets near his hip. She didn't speak. She just… stared. Her slightly brown eyes, usually filled with the steely grace of a novel lady, now shimmered with a softness that made Shennong shift beneath the sheets.
