Chapter 6
When Weyland woke up, he wondered where he was.
Then the memories of the night before came crashing down on him like an avalanche in the northern mountains, and he stifled a bout of panic.
He was lying in a sumptuous bed, with a warm coverlet over him. Black hair and warm, olive-hued skin was only a few inches in front of his sleep-fogged eyes. And a warm, soft presence pressed into him from behind.
Kitiara. And Eleanora. Seven Gods. Mother will have a stroke. And Fred will call me a liar.
Best not to tell them, then.
He must have shifted, or made some sound, because he was suddenly aware of Kit’s eyes staring deep into his own. Dark blue, almost violet in the early morning light that poured through the windows set in the eastern wall, they examined him with frank curiosity
