Late summer settles over Acheron. The air smells of stone warmed by the sun and blooming herbs from the lower terraces. I am happy—carefree in a way I barely recognize. I laugh more, I sleep easily.
I am in the gardens, tending to the flower beds.
“Shall we go into town tomorrow?” Aileen asks while plucking weeds.
“I would adore that. I need some new yarn, I just finished another canvas last night.” Embroidery has always been a favorite pastime of mine, but in recent months, I have gotten pretty good at it, too.
I hear him before I see him, heavy boots on gravel, voices falling silent. I turn, expecting a messenger, and instead, he is there. Dust-stained, broad-shouldered, very much alive.
I jump up from the ground, equal parts shocked and happy to see him.
“Charles!” I shout.
He smiles broadly, but then his eyes narrow. I can see the shift in his demeanor instantly. Something displeases him.
Behind me, Aileen has risen too and curtsies.
“Welcome home, Your Majesty,” she says quietly.
He doesn’t pay any attention to her, as if she isn’t even there.
He reaches me in a handful of strides.
“Fastrada.”
I barely have time to answer before his hands frame my face and his mouth crashes over mine.
“Charles—”
“I have missed you,” he breathes against my lips, and kisses me again, harder.
His thumb brushes my cheek. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”
I shake my head, dizzy.
“I thought of you every night,” he murmurs, voice rough now. “Every night.”
My heart stumbles. “You did?”
“Devil’s mercy, yes.”
He kisses me again, deeper this time, and I cling to his shoulders to steady myself.
“It is good to see you happy,” he says against my mouth.
The word catches.
“Happy?” I echo.
But he is kissing me again, more urgently now. His hands slide down, restless, gathering fabric.
“Charles—wait—”
He does not. The hem of my dress shifts higher.
I gasp, half laughter, half alarm.
“Charles, we are not alone,” I say breathlessly, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear me.
