Note: Another collection of drabbles. I've written seven so far, all from that little imaginary canon in my head, where Princess Kalasin marries Emperor Ozorne, in the spring of her fourteenth year. You know, Platonic and Wounds? That verse.
Kalasin hasn't slept very well since her arrival in Carthak. It's too hot for comfort, the bed is a little too soft and the pillow a little too hard, the room is unfamiliar, and the slit in the curtains throws in a sliver of moonlight, which casts odd shadows over the walls. And above all, she isn't used to sharing a bed with anyone.
After quite a few weeks of sleepless nights, Ozorne notices her discomfort. "Haven't been sleeping?"
Ozorne thinks on it for a moment, and dismisses her from the room, telling her that some fresh air would be nice.
That night, Kalasin wanders into their bedroom, already dressed in a nightgown a little too big for her. Ozorne sits in the window seat, neutrally playing with a ball of fire. The room is much cooler, she notices, although it's the middle of summer. The bed is a little bit harder and her pillow, a little softer.
Kalasin goes to the window seat a bit tentatively, and sits at his side. "Thank you." A faint glimmer of hesitation, and she brushes her lips against his cheek. "That was nice."
He rests one hand lightly against her back. "You're welcome." His amber eyes look into hers searchingly. "Get some rest. You're tired."
She obeys because she is too tired to argue, and as soon as she snuggles into bed, she sleeps, for the first night in a long time.