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... o the floor.


His clenched fist was frozen on the bedside table where the damned object should have been. Usually, he would have gone back to sleep, convincing himself there was still time. Not this time.


That didn't happen often. It should have made him think.


This morning, the young man untangled himself surprisingly well from his blankets. Rising shirtless, six feet tall, and over twenty years old, the first thought you'd have when you saw him would have be ...

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“That was a bad act, my lady.” The deep voice spoke, causing goosebumps to rise on her skin.

Scary.

“I will only give you three seconds to get up.”

His voice wasn't really threatening, but somehow he commanded fear, especially with the slow and careful way he spoke. She had heard he was bad-tempered. What would he do after the three seconds passed? Would he kill her? Then would she die here? How did he even know she was pretending? Were people in the middle ages usually smart?

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