THE KING IN THE NORTH

44

The sounds of chinking essence woke Edgar over. He moaned at the pang in his neck as he lifted his face go the window. His drapes were pulled up. He could not flash back letting them down the former night. He had not meant to sleep at all. He was just resting his mind, allowing on all life had taken and offered when the webs of sleep caught him. He'd seen her, burning, going, screaming, leaving him alone in this cold loveless earth. Edgar stilled at the memory, he hadn't been asleep. No, sleep had left him when the youthful queen had held him in her soft little arms till he no more stressed the dark, till he no more wept for his last nut. Till he was contentedly sleeping. He cringed at the vulnerability he'd let her see. He was noway suitable to suppose of Monique without being lost in a hole of pain and wrathfulness. She did not earn to die, she was too kind, too innocent, too beautiful. Just like the termagant that helped him to sleep after his worried agony. No doubt she was awake,