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“You should get into bed, Your Majesty.”
Alarick groaned as he valiantly fought sleep, his eyelids lowering. “Not yet.”
I held back a smile and continued to run my fingers through his hair. This had become a nightly ritual of ours, one initiated by him, I might add. After a long day, I would sit on the couch in his royal chambers, and he would lie down, stretching his long body and resting his head on my lap.
“Just a few more minutes,” he mumbled, his words laced with sleep.
Alarick fell asleep on my lap so often, I could count the heartbeats it took for him to go under. His head was tilted slightly back, dark stubble growing on his handsome face. He wasn’t traditionally beautiful. His features were rugged—a square jaw, little creases at the corners of his eyes from thousands of years of smiling.…