The wind blew softly though the open window, the white silk curtain billowing in the breeze. Everything was still; the only sound to be heard was his quiet rhythmic snores. The moon peeked in and silently lit up the scene, highlighting the prostrate form in the four poster bed, his sword and dressing gown carelessly kicked off to the side. Slivers of light shone to the corners of the room and for a moment, a dark figure was glimpsed, waiting. The moon decided this was the time to disappear and out it went, leaving the imprint of the stealthy intruder by the door. There was the scent of danger in the air, the breeze blew down and the owls stopped their incessant hooting.
Cautiously she crept to the bed, bare feet making only the softest of sound. Hearing the snoring, she thought she was in luck. The fool was drunk up to the hilt and wouldn't be capable of resisting much. She untied the rope around her waist and leaned over him, lifting his arms to the bedstead and deftly winding it around, securing it with a tight knot. That should sort him out.
Buckingham felt a pleasant tickling sensation and a hint of a smile ghosted across his face. It reminded him of something, but he couldn't remember what. He blearily opened his eyes and let the light in, focused on the wall ahead of him. Closed his eyes again, sleepily went to stretch. Stopped abruptly.
Something was wrong.
His eyes snapped open.
She was sitting on the end of the bed, long legs crossed, eyes narrowed. Watching him.