But I can’t lie to myself.
This moment feels like the start of something. Something I didn’t ask for. Something I don’t know if I’m strong enough to stop.
I can’t give him my heart again. He’s proven what he’ll do with it.
This man walking beside me isn’t the Alder I knew six months ago. He’s still dangerous, still devastating in that tailored-suit kind of way—but there’s a new edgeto him now. An ache beneath the armor that makes me wonder if maybe, just maybe…the storybook ending I swore I didn’t believe in is walking right beside me.
And that’s what terrifies me most of all.
When we finally reach the coop, I’m almost grateful for the distraction. The soft clucking of hens drifts on the breeze, mingling with the earthy scent of hay and feathers.
Alder strides ahead and opens the narrow wooden door with a flourish before bowing dramatically. “Ladies first.”
I roll my eyes. “Chivalry isn’t dead, it just smells like chickens.” I duck inside, brushing past the weather worn frame and into a surprisingly elegant space.
The floor crunches beneath my feet, straw layered thick over flagstones. Sunlight streams through leaded glass windows, scattering jeweled light across the carved mahogany beams overhead. Nesting boxes, crafted from dark wood and decorated with silver inlays, line the walls in neat rows.
It’s the fanciest henhouse I’ve ever seen.
Even the hens look expensive. Their feathers shine like polished copper and gold, and one of them hops onto a stool with the same energy as a disapproving headmistress. She eyes me like I’ve broken the dress code and lets out a sharp cluck before pecking the hem of my borrowed dress in protest.
But I’m not thinking about chickens. Not really. I’m still back in the gardens, his voice echoing through me.
I think I was waiting for something—or someone—to show me where to go next.
Was he talking about me?
The Alder I knew didn’t wait for anyone. He didn’t follow maps—he bought the damn compass company and charted his own course. But today, he wasn’t leading. He was listening. And maybe that’s what unsettles me more than anything.
I’m so deep in my own thoughts about him, about us, about everything that I don’t notice the bold hen at my feet until it’s too late. My foot lands squarely on her claw.
The hen lets out an ear-piercing squawk, her wings flapping wildly against my legs like she’s trying to take flight.
“Ah! I’m sorry—” I stumble back, arms flailing as I try to regain my balance. My slipper catches the edge of a small stool, and it topples over with a loud clatter, sending a basket of corn kernels and chicken feed flying.
Cue full-blown poultry pandemonium.
Feathers fill the air. Hens shriek like they’ve just heard the sky is falling. Beady little eyes glare at me as they scramble for the scattered feed.
“Gemma!” Alder calls, his voice rich with laughter.
“I didn’t mean to!” I shout back, trying to sidestep the hens that are now darting around my feet, pecking at the ground with alarming determination.
He chuckles as he moves closer, his hands up like he’s approaching a spooked animal. “Hold still!”
“Hold still?” I squeal, flinching as one particularly aggressive hen flaps past my shoulder, nearly hitting me in the face. “They’re everywhere!”
“They’re chickens,” he says, still laughing. “They’re not going to hurt you.”
“Easy for you to say!” I snap, hopping on one footas another hen pecks near my ankle. “You’re not being attacked!”
One pecks my ankle. I squeal and spin, tripping again, and before I know it, my feet tangle together. With a startled yelp, I go down, landing flat on my butt in the middle of the henhouse.
Alder’s laughter is full-bodied now, the kind that doubles him over. He crouches beside me, grinning like the absolute menace he is. “Are you okay, Your Majesty of the Coop?”
I blow at the feathers floating in front of my face, huffing when one stubbornly sticks to my cheek. “Oh, you’re hilarious,” I grumble, brushing at my straw and feather tangled hair. “I swear, if you call me the Mother of Hens, I’m throwing feed at your face.”
“You’ve become their queen.” He leans forward and plucks a feather from my shoulder. “It’s majestic.”
