Those dreams had been particularly intense of late, leaving Tetradore quite near exhausted in the mornings after. It perturbed him, truly, how much he had dreamed of her, particularly considering just how quiet his vampiric mistress had been since she had announced her return. Perhaps it was fate's way of warning him, of foreshadowing her inevitable appearance within his life all over again. It hadn't occurred to him that she might be capable of fueling his thoughts, much less of influencing his dreams. Tetradore had always thought those very emotions, those considerations, and internal musings were his alone, the only thing she left that could not be determined by her. If only he knew how wrong he was. Tonight, however, had hardly been easy upon him in any sense. He had returned to his bed later in the evening then normal, the Ark having been particularly rambunctious the night before, enough that it required the were-King's immediate attention and involvement. He had been wholly looking forward to bed and, in turn, the man had fallen asleep the very moment his head had hit the pillow. Those thick curtains had been pulled over the windows, casting his bedroom into near complete darkness, those soft, jersey sheets all but embraced the Alpha, leaving him blissfully ignorant of the rest of the world.

And then - they came. Those dreams had started innocently enough, the Ark was quiet and empty, leaving Tetradore alone on the rocking ship. There was a storm brewing outside, the winds were howling, the rain was pouring and, somehow, he had been left in the middle of the ocean without the harbor in sight. And then she appeared. Risque slinked through the shadows as she always did, encroaching upon him in the same fashion in which she always did, leaving the man unaware until it was too late. Sometimes, those dreams repeated themselves over and over like a broken record from which he couldn't escape. Sometimes they were more akin to memories on his mind then any new creation of his subconscious, and other nights they were new and frightful experiences that left him tossing and turning and sweating in his sleep. Tonight, it was those very nightmares that assaulted the King, leaving him in a fitful sleep that caused him to wake over and over again. By the time the sun rose, Tetradore was rather certain that he'd spent more time awake than he had asleep.

It was that fatigue that caused the King to remain in bed and, finally, when the sun rose and his room had a vague hint of light, that tiredness won over, leaving him sleeping peacefully. He was oblivious to the young woman that crept into the confines of his bedroom, at least, not at first. In fact, Tetradore was unaware of what had awoken him, his eyelashes fluttered open moments later with a soft yawn on his lips. God, he was still tired. It was tempting to just roll over and let that sleep take him again. The very idea was enticing, at least, until he heard the muted sound of footsteps on the carpet. The were-King shifted, rising to his elbows only for his emerald eyes to befall upon the fleeing figure of the young Calliel. A glimpse of confusion crossed his features as those sheets fell from his figure, pooling around his waist. "Calleil?" He inquired with a hint of grogginess to his baritone voice. "What are you doing here?" His eyebrows furrowed before his gaze slowly turned towards that basket beside his bed. The sight of those muffins were hardly peculiar, after all they had been showing up every morning for months and yet, sluggishly, Tetradore began to put together that connection. Was she the one who had been bringing them all the time? Why?