Cyrdic woke up late in the morning, the sun almost at its zenith in the sky. He felt Camilla's arms around his chest, her legs intertwined in his. The sellsword smiled to himself, and rubbed her thick head of black hair a bit with his hand. His mother's necklace hung loosely off her chest, pressed to his side. He hated to wake her, and honestly last night felt far too good, he almost didn't want to get out of bed or it would seem like it was over. He remembered her speaking her native Tilean, and the warmth they gave off still lingered. 

But he still had his soldiering traditions, and old habits died hard. Most of the time he would be the one to get up before anyone else and kick new recruits into gear, yanking them out of bed if they dared grumble at him. He would have scolded himself not months ago. He chuckled at the thought, and slipped out of bed as best he could, putting on his trousers and tying them onto his waist. Once she awoke, she'd find he had breakfast out for her, and some water as well. 

A knock reverberated off their door, and Cyrdic was admittedly a bit paranoid. The last two times they'd shared a room together after getting close, a Middenland man punched him in the face, and they were summoned to fight for their lives for a crime they never committed. Now that they were together and had shared a bed, he suspected to open the door to a rifleman squad. The Ostlander slipped his shirt on, and opened the door only slightly to keep Camilla well covered in the bed as she ate. 

"Yes?" Cyrdic asked. The man before him was one of the servants. 

"Yes, my Lord. Someone is here to see you. Indeed they've been waiting all morning, but I was told by the Duke not to disturb you until midday." 

"My Lord? You must-..." He began, and then spaced out. He was a lord now, wasn't he? Technically. "Go on, man. Fetch him." 

"As you wish, Marquess."

He closed the door, grunting. "I'll need to get used to that, I guess..." 
[@Penny]