He did not speak of it — only looked away dismissing every bit of worry that appeared on your face.

But even when he didn’t speak of it, you saw it — the way he would wake up with sweat glistening upon his brow, chest raising in deep, greedy breaths as if his lungs were lacking air, fists clenched on the sheets of you shared bed at the memory of the night vision that haunted his mind.

You husband was a stubborn man — to proud and blinded by his own ego to speak of… what others thought a blessing, he named a curse.

He once mumbled something about the moon — the longer it hanged on the night sky, the longer his dreams were, the more restless he got. Maybe that was why he hated winters. Aerion thought you would forget that detail — a meaningless blurt, easily forgotten under the events of the days. But somehow it stayed in your mind, occupying ever afterthought or the moments where your concern would fade but be replaced by it.

It was late at night when you woke up — startled by the noise in the chamber, ready to wake Aerion up. Only to him… being absent from your bed and being the cause of the noise. The only sign of him laying on the matters moments ago was the damp fabric on his pillow and his side of the mattress.

He was pouring himself wine the moment your eyes landed on him. He was looking too jerky, too snappy. The always smug prince became… uneasy.