Freya‘s pov.

Sleep had claimed me at some point, though I wasn’t sure when. It wasn’t restful—it never was. But this time, it was enough.

I woke to the sensation of movement. A touch—gentle, fleeting—brushed across my forehead, then my leg. My body tensed instinctively, but before I could react, a calm voice broke the silence.

“Good morning, Lady Freya. How are you feeling?”

I blinked, adjusting to the soft light filtering through the room. A man stood ...