#ondolemar

Talisse lay on her stomach beside him, half-covered by the blanket, her hair spilling around her shoulders. She had apparently returned to bed for the express purpose of reading. Her book was open beneath her hands. Of course it was that book. Ondolemar's expression flattened as he watched her for several moments, entirely absorbed in whatever dreadful passage had captured her attention. Her eyes moved steadily across the page, occasionally pausing as though something had particularly amused her. Then, slowly, he reached out, his palm settling against her back. Talisse stilled. He drew himself closer, his hand moving gently along her back before resting against her waist. She turned her head slightly, and he opened both eyes. "What time is it?" Talisse smiled and glanced toward the window, studying the angle of the morning light before looking down at the bed, apparently using both as reference points. "Not much yet, based on where the light is hitting." He followed her gaze toward the window. She was right. The sun had only just begun to creep across the room, its light still pale and low. It cast a warm stripe over the bed and caught against the edge of the dresser, leaving much of the room in soft shadow. His gaze dropped toward the book again. He gave it a look of profound disapproval, and his expression alone was enough to make Talisse laugh softly. The depiction of the Dominion within those pages had been so absurdly distorted that he wasn't entirely certain whether he ought to be offended, amused, or concerned that someone had actually managed to publish it. The Thalmor described therein bore only the vaguest resemblance to the organization he knew. It was trash. Talisse knew it perfectly well, and somehow that only made her enjoy it more. It was also precisely the sort of thing that could not legally circulate in Alinor. That did not make its kind any less popular, it did nothing to prevent people from wanting it. If anything, prohibition had always seemed to make certain things more attractive.

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Light struck his face unfiltered and unkind. Ondolemar stirred slowly, a faint crease forming between his brows as he shifted against the sheets. The world was quiet—soft, golden, unfamiliar. Consciousness returned in fragments—the warmth of the bed, the unfamiliar scent of the room, the weight of sleep clinging stubbornly to his limbs. For a brief, disorienting moment, he had no idea where he was. Then it came back to him. He reached instinctively toward the other side of the bed, expecting the familiar warmth, the press of her thigh against his leg, the tumble of her hair across his chest. Nothing. His fingers brushed only cool sheets. Hand lingering there for a second longer than necessary, he then opened his eyes and looked properly, brows knitting. Morning light filtered through the window in stripes, enough to illuminate the room in a gentle glow. For a heartbeat he wondered if she’d simply shifted in her sleep—until his gaze swept the space. She had been up for a while. Her brush lay on the dresser, half-buried under a fan of hair ribbons she clearly debated using and then abandoned. A few bottles of oils and scent had been rearranged—Talisse’s version of “deciding,” which was always just a polite word for making a small, charming mess. A necklace lay open beside the mirror, as though she’d held it to her throat, frowned at it, and set it aside to reach for something better. He smiled faintly. Talisse waking before him was rare enough to remark upon. She liked mornings only in theory. She liked the idea of mornings—soft light, warm blankets, the promise of a slow, indulgent day. But she rarely surrendered that warmth willingly. Her waking before him and not waking him as well was rarer still, almost unheard of. She had never been one to miss an opportunity to pull him halfway into the morning with teasing remarks or soft hands.

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