A week slipped by, and the palace breathed easier than it had in months.
The storm between them had gentled into something steady, startling in its sweetness.
Alaric was different.
Not less himself.
His sharpness still lived in the cut of his words at court and the weight of his command but with her, he had softened.
He sent her flowers each morning, a return to the days before war had taken him from her side.
Roses, lilies, even wild blossoms his knights searched out beyond the city walls, each arrangement laid in her chambers with a note written in his strong hand.
They ate together every day, without fail.
Lunch, dinner, even breakfasts whenever his duties allowed.
He listened...truly listened when she spoke, his green eyes softened as though he was memorizing every cadence of her voice.
And at night, he was hers in gentleness as much as in passion.
