The knock was soft but firm, measured, respectful.
Sasha's eyes narrowed. Few would dare disturb him, especially now.
He untangled himself from Aylin with the same care one might use to leave a prayer half-spoken. Her body stirred, murmuring something faint and unintelligible, but she didn't wake. He pulled the blanket higher over her bare shoulder, pausing to press a kiss to her temple.
Then he rose, silent and fluid, pulling on a loose tunic from the chair near the bed. The chill in the room barely touched him as he moved toward the door, instinct already alert beneath his calm surface.
He cracked it open just enough to see.
Roland.
The man stood with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes sharp, voice pitched low.
"My Lord," he said, his gaze flicking briefly toward the crack in the door, "apologies for the interruption, but I thought you'd want to hear this in person."
