Flora smothers a smile behind her teacup. Davrin makes an exaggeratedoooohnoise under his breath, and Pan, sweet innocent Pan, just beams between us like this is all perfectly normal.
Iris sips her tea again, looking for all the world like she hasn’t just upended the last ten years of my life.
I grit my teeth.
Fine.
She wants a tour? She gets a damn tour.
I turn on my heel and jerk my head toward the door. “Come on then.”
She grins—big and bright and like she’swon something—and then she sets down her mug and hops up to follow.
As soon as we’re out the door, walking side by side through the orchard toward the meadery, I feel it again—the overwhelming awareness of her, the honey-sweet scent of her skin, the warmth radiating off her body like she was made to slot into my side. I keep my hands in my pockets, my stride carefully measured. If I reach for her, I’ll want tokeepher, and if I keep her, I don’t think I’ll ever let her go.
She doesn’t say anything at first, just takes in the sight of the golden trees, the thick vines curling over wooden trellises, the Jotun bees humming lazily through the afternoon air.
“It’s beautiful here,” she murmurs.
I nod. “Good place to settle down.”
She hums softly. “And yet, somehow, I never pictured you here.”
I glance at her sidelong. “No?”
She shakes her head, tucking her hands behind her back as she strolls. “I mean, sure, I always thought you deserved somewhere peaceful. You worked your ass off for years, running all over Earth, saving books and getting into fights you probablydidn’tneed to pick.”
I snort. “Every fight was necessary.”
I don’t add the part we both know—because I had to protectyou.
Iris goes silent, looking at the way the golden light filters through the trees, her gaze distant, thoughtful. For a moment, I let myself look at her, my gaze lingering.
She doesn’t belong here, not really. She belongs in libraries, among dusty books, exploring forgotten stories. She looked so at home in the Grand Library that I thought it would be cruel to take her out of it.
And yet…she fits here, doesn’t she?
In this garden. In my life. My heart.
She fits so easily into my world that it makes my chest ache.
I clear my throat, forcing my gaze away. “The apiary is just ahead.”
Her brows shoot up. “Wait a minute—I finally get to meet your bees?”
I laugh. “They’ll probably hardly even notice you…but yes, it’s finally time to meet my bees—Little Wing included.”
5
IRIS
We walk through the orchard, the golden light slanting through the trees, catching on the edges of honey-laden vines and glinting off the smooth bark of the knowledge trees beyond. The air is thick with the scent of pollen and late-summer nectar, warm and heavy, as if the very earth here exhales sweetness. My fingers brush against a low-hanging branch, the waxy leaves folding gently inward at my touch—a soft, slow reaction, like the tree isthinkingabout me. It sends a shiver down my spine.
Ahead, Garrik pushes open a wooden door, his broad frame blocking my view until he steps aside, revealing theApiary Housebeyond. Sunlight filters through high windows, catching on the honeycombs stacked neatly along one wall, their golden depths glistening with slow-dripping amber.
The scent of honey is thicker inside the apiary house, warm and golden, curling through the air like it’s part of the very walls. The space is small but open, filled with the hum of unseen life—the gentle murmur of bees outside, the faint creak of wooden beams settling, the steady sound of Garrik breathing beside me.
He doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches me.
