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“That is rarely harmless.”

A quiet breath left him, something close to a laugh, though it did not quite reach that height. “The court gathers again soon.”

She nodded, though her hand did not move. “And after?”

He hesitated. After. “I would see this ended,” he said carefully. “Cleanly.”

“And Yule?”

He met her gaze fully now, aware of the weight behind the question. “I would like,” he said slowly, “to spend it without shadow.”

The honesty of it settled between them, unforced and unhidden. He would not bind her with expectation. Would not claim what she had not yet chosen to give.

Her gaze softened, though she did not press him further. The silence that followed was not strained, but aware and filled with things left unsaid, but perhaps understood all the same.

His thumb moved absently along her waist, the gesture unintentional, though he did not immediately stop. “There is something else I am considering,” he said.

She tilted her head slightly. “What?”

“Something that was taken from you.”

Understanding dawned slowly in her expression.

Her eyes widened. “My mother’s necklace?”

“Aye.”

She looked away briefly. “I do not expect to see it again.”

“Perhaps you should.”

Her gaze returned to his, searching now. “You would chase merchant accounts in the middle of a political scandal for a trinket?”

“It was not a trinket.” The firmness in his voice surprised even him. “It was yours.”

Something in her expression shifted—soft and bright all at once. “You have larger matters to contend with.”

“I can contend with more than one thing.”

She studied him as though trying to understand what lay beneath the words. “Why does it matter to you?”

Because you matter. The answer rose easily, dangerously, yet he did not speak it.

Instead, he said more carefully, “Because loss should not be the only thing you carry from this winter.”

Outside, a bell began to toll, the sound carrying through the morning air as the town stirred to life and the day pressed forward.

She leaned closer then and pressed a slow kiss to his mouth, not urgent, not claiming, but deliberate in a way that stilled everything else.

When she drew back, her forehead rested briefly against his. “I would not mind,” she said softly, “if Yule held one unexpected gift.”

*

After Sorcha left for the day’s proceedings in her slightly crumpled blue-grey gown, Gavan did not immediately follow. He remained seated in the quiet chamber, watching the last of the embers sink into a dull-red glow. The silence settled around him, broken only by the faint sounds of morning filtering in from the town.

He drew a breath and shifted, and only then did he realise his shoulder did not hurt. The awareness came slowly, almost disbelieving. Every morning for months, the first movement had brought a dull, dragging ache, a stiffness that settled deep in the joint and refused to loosen until long after he rose. But now, as he rolled his shoulder experimentally, there was only a faint pull. No sharp flare. No immediate protest.

He stilled, half expecting the pain to catch up to him. It did not. He flexed his fingers once, twice, feeling the absence of the familiar ache with something close to bewilderment. Whether it was the rare depth of sleep or simply the strange peace of waking with her beside him, he did not know. But for the first time in longer than he cared to remember, he did not begin the day bracing against his own body.