Her eyes close for a heartbeat.
Fear flickers—real, human.
Then resolve settles through her shoulders.
“I did the right thing,” she says quietly. More to herself than to me.
“Yes,” I answer. “You did.”
The part of me that always rose to entertain—to soothe danger away with noise—has been quiet these three days. The old urge still stirs—to slip into the Jester’s mask, distract, lighten, pretend—but I have learned to let it pass.
She doesn’t need the Jester. She needs the man learning how not to hide behind him.
So I stay still. Stay present. Stay true.
She looks up, and her expression softens.
“You’ve been steady all weekend,” she says quietly. “Not fixing. Not performing. Just… here.”
“Is that good?” I ask.
“It’s everything,” she murmurs.
What I feel surging through me is deeper than the night we chose to wait. Not only hunger. Something steadier. Something like becoming the man she already sees.
After a quiet moment, she rises. “I need air.”
“Walk?” I ask.
She nods.
The morning air is warm, the breeze rustling the leaves in the trees. We move through the sanctuary—past the stables, pastthe training yard where I spend too much time teaching tourists what fighting isnot.
Sophia walks close enough that our arms brush now and again. Not clinging. Not seeking rescue. Simply sharing space.
It feels right.
At the far edge of the grounds, she stops and looks toward the Roman garden. She doesn’t step in—just watches it as if it holds something personal.
“That carved wheel,” she says quietly. “It’s not just decoration.”
“No,” I say. “It isn’t.”
She’s quiet for a moment, studying the garden’s stone walls, the sculpture visible beyond. “Do you ever go in there when it’s not Fortuna’s night?” she asks.
“Sometimes,” I say. “When I need to think. Or remember.” I hesitate. “Is good place to talk to ghosts.”
She glances at me, uncertain if I’m joking. I’m not sure either.
Her palm is warm. The grip sure. And her presence—a quiet fire in my chest.
“Thank you,” she murmurs. “For everything this weekend.”
“You do not need to thank me.”
“I know,” she says. “But I want to.”
She looks lighter than she has in days. Not carefree—the fight is just beginning. But unburdened. Like she set down something heavy and discovered she could still stand.
