Dorvo awoke slowly, his consciousness gradually bleeding into reality from the darkness. Understanding of the world around him began to trickle into his awareness, and the first thing he understood was that something pleasantly warm was pressed up against him.

He sighed and shifted in the bed, and whatever was pressed up to him shifted as well and wiggled closer to his body. Dorvo smelled musk and sweat, and felt strands of hair against his mouth and the bottom of his nose.

Opening his eyes, he took in the sight of Tress’ short golden locks. Dorvo smiled. The woman was a wild one, energetic and passionate in bed—and out of it, as the case may have been. Last night was an experience that he was not likely to soon forget.

He moved, attempting to sit up without also waking her. In this endeavor, he failed.

“Ugh,” Tress groaned, rolling onto her back and blinking up at him. The cover was pulled away from her, both by his sitting up and her own motion, and Dorvo couldn’t help but admire how her breasts looked sitting there in the morning light. “Good morning, you,” she said, a soft smile on her lips. He recalled clearly what those lips tasted like.

“Good morning,” answered Dorvo with his own smile. “Did you sleep well?”

Tress chuckled. “Oh, definitely.” She stretched, sat up, yawned, and stretched again. Modesty seemed to be the furthest thing from her mind, and Dorvo’s eyes were once again drawn to her breasts.

He remembered what those tasted like too. The sight and the memory sent stirrings through him, and with the bedsheets having fallen away there was little hope of hiding that fact.

She noticed, her eyes flicking down and sparkling with mischief. Tress grinned, but then the grin faded. “I’d love to stay in for a bit,” she said, “but you know as well as I that if we don’t get dressed soon, then Garban will come bursting through that door demanding to know what’s taking you so long.”

Dorvo laughed at that image and looked around their little room in the inn. It was a small one—not the smallest room he’d seen, but definitely on the smaller end of that scale. There were two chests pushed up against the wall, just under the window, and bolted to the floor so that no guests would get the bright idea of absconding with them. The bed sat in the center of the room, headboard against another wall, and the door stood opposite of its foot, just far enough away that it could swing open fully and miss the bed by an inch or two.

Usually, Dorvo thought of such rooms as being cramped. But this morning, a different word came to mind: “cozy.”

“I suppose that you’re right,” Dorvo admitted. “But it is still a shame to leave.”

Tress leaned over and cupped his cheek with her hand. She kissed him. “Perhaps after your business in Keening is done with, we could meet once more for a repeat performance.”

“Perhaps,” Dorvo agreed, unable to keep the grin from his face. He climbed out of bed and began the somewhat awkward process of locating and collecting his clothes from around the floor.

His bedmate, he noticed, seemed content to just sit there and watch him with a smile on her face.

“Are you not going to dress as well?” Dorvo asked her.

“Nah,” said Tress. “You need to head out soon, but I certainly don’t. I intend to sleep in for a bit longer.”

“Hmph.” Dorvo located his right boot and slid his foot in. “Lucky you.”

“Lucky me,” Tress agreed, laying back in bed. Dorvo watched her as she reclined. What he wouldn’t give to be back in that bed with her…

Something slammed against the door—once, twice, three times. “Wake up, lad!” Garban’s voice barked from the other side. “I want to be at the river by sundown!”

Dorvo rolled his eyes and grabbed his coat while Tress giggled.

Soon enough, he was downstairs. Garban was seated in the inn’s common room, eating a bowl of porridge. Another bowl sat beside him.

“Eat up and let;s go,” said the dwarf as Dorvo approached.

“Yeah, yeah…” Dorvo stretched his arms up and arched his back, rolled his head along his shoulders and felt a satisfying crack. He sat down, and soon discovered that his porridge was, at best, lukewarm.

“Should have been down here sooner,” Garban told him, just before shoving his final spoonful into his mouth.

Dorvo frowned and forced himself to eat. A chair scraped against the floorboards and a dark-haired woman with a scar running down her face sat down across from them.

“Keening today?” asked Seahawk.

“Not until two days’ hence, most likely,” Garban told her. “And only arriving in the late evening, at that. Three days if we see even the smallest delay. But we’ll be riding out today, soon as the lad’s finished his breakfast.”

Seahawk nodded. Her eyes studied Dorvo, and he tried his best not to fidget beneath the curious intensity of her gaze. There was just something about the woman that set him on edge.

“He doesn’t look like an adventurer,” said Seahawk.

Dorvo nearly choked on his spoon. Garban burst out laughing.

“The lad’s green yet,” agreed the dwarf. “But not to worry—I’ll have him whipped into shape in no time!”

“He looks soft,” said Seahawk. “Like a noble.”

“I’ll have you know that I am a noble,” Dorvo told her. He awaited her surprise, her look of embarrassment, her apology. But none of those things manifested in her reaction.

Instead, she merely nodded. “That would be why you’re so soft.”

Garban almost fell out of his chair, he was laughing so hard.

Dorvo set down his spoon and stood from the table. “I think I’ve had enough,” he said. “Garban, I believe we must set out for Keening soon.”

“Haha… of course, lad, of course.” Garban wiped tears from his eyes. “Oh, by the Twins. I like this woman.”

I think I prefer Tress, Dorvo thought. He followed Garban out the door, all the while trying to ignore the feeling of Seahawk’s eyes on his back.