"That Dante Deleuve's back." Freya leaned against the bar, grinning. "Kieran says he saw him at the Council Glade this morning. Says he looked like a man on a mission."
"A mission to ruin my peace," Maeve muttered.
"Or to save your tavern." Twyla swirled her tea. "Depending on how you look at it."
"I don't need saving."
"No," Freya agreed. "But you might need help. Those shipment problems aren't going away on their own, Maeve. And if Varric brought Dante in specifically to investigate, that means he thinks it's serious."
Maeve grabbed a fresh glass, this one intact. "It's handled."
“You’re just too stubborn to admit you need someone in your corner."
"I have people in my corner." Maeve gestured around the tavern. "This whole town's in my corner. I don't need some arrogant lion swaggering in like he's doing me a favor."
"He didn't look arrogant last night," Breck offered. "He looked gutted."
"Good."
Freya and Twyla exchanged glances. The kind of look that meant they were about to gang up on her.
"The Veil's been humming," Freya said carefully. "You feel it?"
"It's always humming."
"Not like this." Freya pulled a sprig of lavender from her bag, twirling it between her fingers. "This is mate-bond humming. Fate-is-paying-attention humming. The kind that brought Kieran and me together even when I was trying to ignore it."
"I'm not trying to ignore anything." Maeve's voice came out too sharp. "Because there's nothing to ignore. Dante and I are not mates. We're barely acquaintances."
"You were more than acquaintances ten years ago," Twyla said.
"Ten years ago was a lifetime." Maeve moved down the bar, needing distance. "He made his choice. Stayed with the pride. I left. That's the end of it."
"Except he's here now." Twyla set down her teacup. "And you threw him out of your bar but you're still thinking about him. Still wondering why he came back."
"I'm not?—"
"You are." Freya's smile turned gentle. "It's okay to admit you're curious, Maeve. It doesn't make you weak."
It felt weak. Felt like her walls were cracking and she couldn't stop it. Felt like her lioness was purring at the thought of Dante staying in Hollow Oak for two weeks, close enough to see every day.
Close enough to make her remember things she'd spent a decade trying to forget.
"He's Council business," Maeve said firmly. "That's all. He'll investigate whatever needs investigating and then he'll leave. Back to his pride. Back to his life."
"And if he doesn't?" Twyla asked.
"He will." Maeve grabbed the cracked glass, tossing it in the bin under the bar. "He always does."
Freya and Twyla exchanged another look, this one sad and knowing. They meant well. They always did. But they didn't understand what it felt like to be left behind by someone you'd thought might stay.
The door chimed as more patrons filtered in, lunch crowd looking for warmth and food and escape from the snow. Maeve welcomed the distraction, throwing herself into orders and conversation and anything that kept her hands busy.
But even as she worked, even as she smiled and poured drinks and traded banter with regulars, part of her mind stayed stuck on one thought.
Two weeks.
Dante was staying for two weeks.
