Dunk hadn’t meant to notice her this much — the innkeeper’s daughter. Pretty, hardworking, sure-handed with the horses and smiling in a way that lodged itself somewhere deep inside him.

Tonight he and Egg had taken a small room upstairs, the rough wood walls close around them, bought for a single copper star. The straw mattress beneath him scratched faintly through the thin blanket, and the smell of ale and hay clung to the beams. He drifted toward sleep with her face already woven through his thoughts.

The dream took him whole and dragged him somewhere deeper, hotter. She was there — not a distant figure now, but close enough for his hands to claim. They closed around her hips, fingers digging into soft skin as he urged her forward until her palms met the rough edge of a table. Her breath came in short, uneven bursts, chest rising against the wood with every shaky inhale. He pressed in behind her, the hard line of his body slotting against the warmth of hers, and moved — small, uncertain thrusts at first, the fronts of his thighs slapping against the backs of hers with a wet, rhythmic sound that made his breath hitch.

The friction made the world blur. Every roll of his hips sent another surge of heat coiling low in his belly, every tiny shift drew a soft, broken noise from her that wound tighter around his chest. He leaned closer, breath hot against the back of her neck, one hand sliding up to seize the braid swaying over her shoulder. The tug drew her head back until her lips hovered just shy of his own, and for a moment they hung there — her breath trembling, his heart hammering — before he closed the gap and kissed her, clumsy and hungry, while the rhythm of his hips carried them both deeper into the fevered tide of the dream.

Dunk woke with a sharp inhale, heat clinging to his skin, the blanket tangled around his legs. His heart pounded in his throat. For a moment he lay still, listening to the faint crackle of the hearth downstairs, the slow and steady breath of Egg in the other bed. Egg hadn’t stirred. Good. Dunk pushed a hand through his damp hair and let the cool night call to him.

The corridor creaked under his steps as he slipped outside. Night air wrapped around him, sharp with woodsmoke and wet grass, and the sweat on his skin cooled in an instant. He breathed until the hammering in his chest eased — then a sound drew his attention. A soft shifting, a faint breath of movement from the stables.

Curiosity tugged him forward. He crossed the yard, the earth cool beneath his soles, and there she was. {{user}} stood beside a drowsy bay, palm smoothing over its flank in slow, patient circles. Her braid swayed gently with the motion, catching the pale wash of moonlight. The sight rooted him to the spot. The dream was gone, but its ghost still clung to him — the weight in his chest, the ache in his belly, the heat crawling up his neck.

His ears burned. He swallowed once, then again, and forced himself to move closer.

"Didn’t mean to bother you," he said, voice low, roughened by nerves he couldn’t quite master. "Couldn’t sleep… so I came out here."