Mikhailis jerked awake to the echo of knuckles on carved oak. For a heartbeat he didn't know where—or who—he was. Sweat-damp curls drooped over his eyes, blurring violet silk, crimson leather, and the dented silver goblet that had never made it back to the table. His fist closed around something soft and crumpled; he lifted it, blinking. Stocking. A very small, very lacy stocking. Not mine.
Mikhailis jerked awake to the echo of knuckles on carved oak. For a heartbeat he didn't know where—or who—he was. Sweat-damp curls drooped over his eyes, blurring violet silk, crimson leather, and the dented silver goblet that had never made it back to the table. His fist closed around something soft and crumpled; he lifted it, blinking. Stocking. A very small, very lacy stocking. Not mine.
