don’t ya, steve?

Pinch. Your nose wrinkles as another pin slides into your hair. You lost count of them six pins ago.

"Remember, good posture," your mother instructs, taking hold of another section to braid. Thankfully, she's nearly finished. When you glance up in the mirror, you see she's fastened everything into a crown of hair, intricately entwined strands wrapping all around your head.

"I've packed a blue dress for the coronation. Please do not feign forgetfulness when it comes time to put on stockings," she says. She's familiar with most of your tricks at this point. Pinch.

In the dark of the early morning, the view outside of your window is still all shadows. Traveling in winter means that sunlight is more of a precious resource than the constant it usually is. The glow of the fireplace occasionally catches in the snowfall outside, looking almost like tiny sparks of light instead of frozen flakes.

"Doing my hair to sit on a horse all day feels a bit silly," you mumble, picking idly at your fingernails.

"I like for you to look nice," she says matter-of-factly. "It'll keep it neat instead of getting all whipped up in the wind." It was a fair point. The tightness of the pins would get old in a matter of hours, but would save you from brushing through knots at the end of the day's travel. It was kind what she was doing. In her own way.

Pinch. She fixes the last pin and does a final once-over, brushing up any stray wisps as a knock sounds on the door.

"Come in," she replies, eyes still trained on your head.

"Sir Steven has prepared the lady's things for travel," the maid's voice informs timidly. "He is ready for departure in the courtyard."

"Thank you, Ilse," you reply, turning your face to give her a tired smile. She responds with a soft grin of her own before she turns back into the hallway, with gentle shuffling footsteps that echo throughout the space until they fade.

"You know her name?" Mother asks, with a lilt in her voice that feels more curious than judgmental.

"I like to know everyone's name," you say, shrugging a little.

A quizzical, almost contemplative look comes over her face before she promptly stands and retrieves a thick, gray woolen cape from your wardrobe. It was one of your favorites—shearling lined and embroidered around the hem and hood with little green holly leaves. She drapes it around your shoulders.

"Congratulate Lady Jane," Mother says, fastening it closed by the wooden toggles. "And please, no scowling at any men that offer to dance. Just decline politely."

Decline? You've suffered through countless parties, dancing with clumsy, presumptuous, charmless men just to keep up an agreeable appearance, and now out of the blue, you've been granted permission to say no. The sudden urge to pinch yourself awake arises in you, along with a confused expression, your eyebrows furrowing in sheer astonishment.

"You mean I'm allowed to decline them?" Your voice sounds the most awake it has since she started getting you ready.

"You're a lady," she says. "Your wishes are to be respected."

"This is news to me," you scoff. Your mother sighs before she says your name in a frustrated huff.

"Your father and I do not agree on every aspect of your life," she says through tense lips and gritted teeth. "I know that forcing you to dance, and wear things you hate, and sit still in the library all day makes you unhappy and resentful. It's certainly how I felt."

A sudden pang of guilt fills your chest as your eyes hesitantly meet hers. She looks stern, as always, with the slightest furrow in her brow. The years of keeping stoic deprive her of the ways life is supposed to show in a person's face. Smooth skin covers the areas where smile lines should be. It's a beautiful face, paid for in stifled laughter and tears forcefully blinked away. The imagined memories of her young life have lingered in your mind for years. You accepted long ago that your parents didn't love one another, but the idea of who your mother was before she became an extension of your father broke your heart even more. Was she funny? Did she like reading? Did she get excited about the first snowfall of the year like you? Even if she did, that girl is long gone.

"And forcing me to marry?" Your voice trembles a little. "Do you know how that makes me feel?"

She sighs again, then gives the front of your cape a final tug.

"I can only fight one battle at a time."

The dim glow of the courtyard's lanterns flickers off of Nora and Steven, who yawns and blinks his sleepy eyes as he leans back against her front leg. As you're escorted closer, you see the tiny, sparkly snowflakes that rest in his hair and on his shoulders. An affectionate flutter in your stomach arises at the sight of the little tinge of rosiness in his cheeks from the cold.

"I'm alright from here," you say softly to Lucas, who so kindly offered to bring you from your room. "Thank you, Lucas."

"You're welcome," he says, moving his gloved hand to rest on the hilt of the sword at his hip. "Keep Steven on his best behavior, yeah?"

You giggle.

"I'll do my best."

A big smile spreads across Steven's tired face as he sees you and Lucas, whom he greets with a wave.

"You've got your maps?" Lucas asks Steven, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Dustin dropped them off last night," Steven confirms. "Go get some sleep, yeah? If anyone bugs you, tell 'em I let you sleep in."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Lucas yawns, giving a sluggish wave as he turns in the direction of the barracks.

Steven watches as Lucas departs, waiting until he's at a satisfactory distance before leaning in. You manage to catch him before his lips meet yours with a press of your finger against his mouth.

"No funny business yet," you whisper.

"But that's my favorite kind of business," he says, his voice muffled by your finger.

You smile, rolling your eyes a little as you pull your hand back into your cape.

"I don't know if anyone's awake yet. My mother could be watching from a window," you caution. "I promise, once we're out of these walls, I'll kiss you madly."

Steven sighs a little. He knows you're right, but he's never had a knack for conceding to this.

"You were always the responsible one," he concedes, turning to give the straps of the saddlebags a final check before he lifts you onto the saddle. You adjust yourself to the front of it, giving the side of Nora's neck a tender pet. She's soft, probably freshly bathed just for the occasion.

"Good morning, pretty," you whisper to her, as Steven hoists himself up to settle behind you. His legs fall on either side of your hips, and you can't help the way you lean back against him, meeting his solid chest. Nearly all of the energy that you were able to muster while getting ready this morning melts away in Steven's hold.

There was just something about his warmth. Despite the intimidating layers of steel plates and chain mail, Steven walked into rooms with this little golden halo of invitation around him. Enemies would never know that beneath his helmet, he possessed doe-like eyes and a disarming smile. He was an incredibly rare person—radiant, but astute. The years of keeping at your side gifted him with the skill of reading an entire breadth of feelings from one glance at your face. It was a warmth you wished to be in the orbit of forever.

"You're tired," he teases in a gentle voice right next to your ear, his left hand lightly tugging on the reins to guide Nora toward the gates.

"I'll do my best to keep you company," you say in a small voice, trying to blink the exhaustion away.

"No, you're alright, angel," Steven murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear as he nods to the drawbridge engineer. The sounds of heavy chains and clanking resound into the air as the bridge lowers, revealing a path that extends through the center of the village, sitting quietly under the dusting snowfall. It's still too early for even the earliest of risers to be awake, the only sounds around being Nora's hoofbeats and the occasional creak of the saddle's leather.

"Why'd we have to leave so early?" You ask through a yawn.

"The sun'll be up soon," Steven soothes. "Here."

He tugs Nora to an easy stop before a hand pulls your thigh, easing you to sit sidesaddle in front of him. When you look over, his face is right next to yours—wearing the kindest smile.

"You're cute when you're grumpy," he whispers sweetly, nearly against your forehead before he presses a kiss there. "Sleep as long as you want. I'll be right here."

You tilt your head upward, lips meeting the underside of his jaw, before you tuck your head against his shoulder. Eyes fluttering shut, you take in a final deep breath, a little sharpness filling your lungs from the cold air that Steven's warmth quickly soothes away. It doesn't take very long at all for sleep to find you again, with his gentle humming and soft, rhythmic strokes to your side.

When you open your eyes again, the sun was finally higher in the sky, blurred by a layer of gray clouds. The snow was lighter now, flurrying tiny flakes rather than the heavy, cottony stuff that fell all through the night. A small, tired noise escapes your throat before you can fully lift your head and Steven notices, letting out a little breath of affectionate laughter.

"Hi there, angel," Steven croons in your ear. "Sleep well?"

You nod, rubbing your eyes.

"Better than I slept last night," you say, blinking to adjust to the brightness. "How long was I asleep?"

"About two hours." His hand brushes a little snow off of your cloaked shoulder. "You cold?"

You shake your head as you sit up, adjusting yourself to sit straight on the saddle again. He drops one side of the reins to wrap an arm around you, his hand reaching inside of your cape to settle on your waist.

"This thing's nice," he says, taking a closer look at the cape. "It's warm in here."

The weight of his chin settles on your shoulder. You press the side of your head against his.

"It was my grandfather's," you inform him. It was one of the nice things about being the only heir, despite your family's barely shrouded disappointment that you weren't a boy. Everything was passed down to you eventually, whether they wanted it to or not. Men's winter cloaks were always warmer, anyway. They were made for actually doing things.

"Your hair looks fancy," he says, leaning back a little to observe the crown of braids and twists in its entirety. You laugh, shoving him a little with your elbow.

"Don't make fun," you laugh. "My mother woke me up in the middle of the night to do it, I feel silly."

"I'm not making fun, it looks good," he soothes, and the hand on your waist slips out from the cape. Steven's fingers brush up the back of your neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"I like that I can see this. It's pretty." You feel the warmth of his breath before the press of lips to the nape, and you're glad he can't see the flustered smile that spreads across your face.

"Can't believe a knight has such a soft heart," you tease.

"Only for you," he retorts, although you both know it couldn't be further from the truth. Softest for you, but almost as weak for squires in need of guidance, the village's kids that waved at him shyly, stray dogs that lingered outside of the barracks because his scraps were as good as theirs.

"I hope Lady Jane's been doing alright," you say, finally allowed the right audience to talk about your worries for her.

You attempted this discussion with your mother weeks ago, a genuine attempt to peel back the layers that kept her honest thoughts deep inside, and all you got in return was "It's her duty. I did mine, she will do hers. You will certainly do yours."

"She's got a tough road ahead, that's for sure," he agrees. "How old is she again?"

"Seventeen." The word makes you cringe a little as it leaves your mouth.

He whistles lowly.

"I wish she could have a different life," you muse, leaning back against him again. "She's like me, you know? The only way out is running away." You didn't know if she had someone who loved her enough to fight for her the way Steven did for you, someone to help if she ever chose the same path as you. You hoped desperately that she did.

"I don't tell you enough how brave you are," Steven says after a little silence, pressing his lips to your temple.

"I feel more foolish than brave these days," you confess. "I've only ever read about the real world, and here I am, on the edge of running right into it."

"It'll probably help that you're the smartest person I've ever met," he says. "Seriously, once we're out of there, you're to do whatever you want. You could paint, raise animals, be a baker. I mean, shit, you could be a blacksmith if you want. You're pretty strong."

"I want to try everything," you say, a slight smile on your face. Steven smiles himself.

"You will, angel."

After another few hours of traveling through the woods, which grew increasingly wintry with every passing minute, Steven reared up Nora by a partially frozen stream. He figured that since he was in the mood for a drink of water, she probably was as well. Once he's on the ground, he extends a hand to ease you off of the saddle. Your feet land with a soft 'crunch' into the snow. With a deep breath, your lungs fill with the cleansing kind of coldness. The air smells like pine and woodsmoke and a new beginning. Steven releases the canteen of water from its straps to eagerly bring it to his lips. Before you can stop yourself, your eyes fixate on his throat; how his Adam's apple rises and falls with each swallow, the bead of water that escapes his lips and trails down over the twin spots on his neck. You feel your teeth press into your bottom lip. It was one of the many wonderful things about making your feelings for him known—you're welcome to stare. When he pulls the canteen away, he takes notice of your gaze, smiling affectionately as he sidles up in front of you.

"You know, I have this funny memory," Steven teases, reaching to cup your cheek with his free hand. "This morning, a beautiful girl promised to kiss me madly."

"Hm," you muse, leaning your cool cheek into the warmth of his palm. "That sounds familiar, actually."

His nose crinkles from laughter as a puff of white, smoky-looking breath escapes his lips. Your hands leave the warmth of your cape to grasp at the leather lapels of his riding coat,and with an insistent tug, his face comes close enough to meet yours in a kiss. The tip of his nose brushes yours as he pulls you closer, dropping the canteen into the snow to hold you around the waist. Your hands brush up his chest, yearning for the familiar softness of his hair in your fingers. A low sound emits from Steven's throat, pleased at the subtle scrape of nails on the back of his head.

"Your nose is cold," he mumbles against your lips, pecking quick and soft before he pulls away. The warmth of his palms is suddenly on your cheeks, thumbs brushing the soft skin.

"So is yours," you giggle, and Steven wraps his arms around your shoulders, tucking your body right against his.

You shudder a little as the warmth from his chest radiates into your body. His palm finds your cheek again, thumb stroking back and forth lovingly across your cheekbone. The jostling and soft clink of Nora's reins sounds as she shakes, sidling closer to you and Steven. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, then picks up the canteen from the snow. Your eyes wander upward and catch the tree canopy, where bare, snowy branches spider out, entangling and casting jagged shadows.

"What would you do?" you ask Steven, who finishes strapping the canteen to the saddle before he turns to you.

"What do you mean?"

"Once we're gone," you explain. "I'll be free to try whatever I like, but what about you? What would you have done if you never became a knight?"

Steven's eyes fall to the ground for a moment, turning over a thought in his head before he speaks again. He crosses his arms across his chest.

"I always wanted to be a father," he confesses. "I never had one of my own. I left home at ten to train, and to my parents, that was the end of things. I was someone else's problem."

A strange, uneasy feeling that you can't quite source rises in your chest.

"A father?"

"Yeah," he says casually, shrugging a little. "I love teaching. Helping a kid become a good person, it's the best thing about being a captain. I want to do that for a kid of my own. Our own."

Our own. It should make you happy. Why isn't it making you happy? Steven loves you enough to see that kind of future with you. So in love, that when he imagines the mother of his child, the object of his most vulnerable dream, he imagines you. And usually, you loved seeing him around children. The stern but fond look on his face as he adjusts a squire's sparring stance. The fatherly pats on the shoulder he gives after a scolding. It's the thing that set him so far apart from the guard's previous captains—a knight was no good to Steven if he wasn't just as devoted to being a good man as he was to being a good fighter.

You knew in the deepest reaches of your heart that Steven would never demand this of you. If it really was in your future, any child you had with Steven would be loved, unconditionally and without reservation. Any little girl of Steven's would be believed in, raised to understand that she was capable of anything. His son would be like him—a gentle defender of goodness. He would hold the love of people far closer to his chest than the hatred of evil.

By any measure, Steven is the kind of person any woman would be thrilled to have a child with one day. Leagues beyond your stranger of a fiancé would have been the father of your child. Before you decided that you were leaving home, becoming a mother was as inevitable to your future as death. It would have happened whether you liked it or not—become an ornament to society, become a wife, produce an heir. You would have loved your child to the best of your ability, but love wouldn't have changed fate. A son would be shaped into a king. A girl would be shaped into a wife. Faces to smile for the public, mouths to speak adoration of your husband. Just as the burden of this was lifted away, a harsh, similar weight is settled on your shoulders again.

You hate the ache that simmers in your heart. Why do the visions of this future fill you with dread again? The view of your life's horizon used to stretch infinitely in all directions, a beautiful, big sky with every path imaginable in perfect clarity. Now, the view feels naive. Darkness starts to vignette the expanse of sky and the paths disappear until a lone stretch of road waits under your feet.

"Angel?"

Your mind snaps violently back into the present, suddenly extremely aware of the cold and the churning in your stomach. Steven's hand reaches for your shoulder and you flinch away, looking at the ground so you don't have to face him. You're frightened. Why? What is there to be so afraid of? His eyes widen. Steven has been punched, stabbed, he's taken a jousting lance straight to the chest, but nothing has ever hurt him as deeply as this. The way you recoil away from him, like a rabbit reacting to the snapping of a twig under a hunter's boots.

"I-" the broken sound leaves his mouth as he desperately searches for something to say. "What happened?"

When you finally find the courage to look at him, the pain swimming in his eyes and the worried parting of his mouth breaks your heart all over again.

"T-thinking," is all you can come up with. The pitiful look on his face soothes away the fear, but a consuming, miserable shame rises quickly to replace it. He's trying to help, you think. He puts himself in harm's way for me without a second thought, and I really thought he would lock me away again.

"From the look on your face, thinking some pretty scary thoughts," he says softly, testing the waters with a tiny step closer. You let him. Every inch that closes between you brings you back to the warmth. This is Steven, you force yourself to think. Steven wants me to be free.

This was your least favorite symptom of growing up behind glass—how deeply you longed to love people, be known by them, rooted in your heart right alongside the fear that they would be like all of the people you've known. Possess and exercise control over your life, like your parents and the entire court, or be a witness, completely without the power or agency to help.

I promised to trust him, and I broke a promise.

Steven loves you. He understands you. And you can't believe that you let this symptom eat away at you so much that your mind shoved him right in with the people that engaged you to a stranger.

Steven doesn't break promises. Steven deserves better.

"Sweetheart?" Steven says gently. "Please, talk to me. You look…something's off."

"I was just-" you start, your voice hollow and strange. "I was lost in thought, and you startled me a little. I'm alright." You wouldn't convince anyone, let alone a person as in tune with you as he was.

"You look really scared," he softly insists. "You know you can tell me anything. If something's wrong, I wanna know."

"I'm just a little distracted," you reply, the words starting to feel fuller, more like something, at least. "Tired, and worried about Jane, and thinking about leaving soon. I have a lot on my mind."

Your eyes dart around, searching for anything that could cease his interrogation of your undeniably strange behavior. Usually, you love how closely he notices you. Right now, you never want to be looked at again, and especially by someone as good and generous as Steven. The subtle orange glow of the clouds in the distance gives you an escape.

"The sun's going down," you mumble. "We should probably find a place to stay the night." His eyes lock onto yours for a moment before yours fall back down to the snow.

"You're right," Steven says, his voice a little choked. He sniffles. "There's a town close by."

He stands still, lingering a moment longer as if he's waiting for you to make the first move. When you don't, Steven huffs a little as he reaches for Nora's reins, leading her a little closer to you. His big hand comes into view—offered in front of you and you take it, internally wincing a little at the warmth, feeling entirely unworthy of how naturally his fingers curl around your palm. Tentative hands reach for your waist to help lift you onto the saddle, not staying to linger and caress as they usually do. He climbs on behind you, hesitating before he reaches for the reins. Nora starts trotting east.

This can't be over, you think, looking down at the stitches of the saddle, idly tracing them with your fingers. The ridges and loops of the thread calm you a little, helping to bring you back to earth and out of the relentless, nauseating spiral. Fix this. Figure this out.

The next hour passes in silence, save for the occasional click from Steven to change Nora's direction, or the clearing of his throat. The spiral has untangled a little, allowing your thoughts to come through more clearly, but the guilty, regretful feeling in your chest is just as harsh. What would you even say? I'm sorry, I've been lonely my entire life and you're the only good friend I've ever had? When I got the slightest idea you may be like the others, I panicked? No one other than you has ever truly loved me and the thought of being ordered around again terrifies me? It doesn't roll off the tongue.

He clicks again as the outskirts of a village come into view, edging Nora onto the path and toward the town. Quaint, cozy-looking cottages made of pine and stone line the sides of a rushing river, with intricate wrought iron bridges connecting the sides of the street every few yards. Pretty, detailed garlands of intertwining evergreen and cranberries border the windows and doorways of some homes, marking an early embrace of the approaching solstice—sensible for a mountain town that stays cold most of the year. A few townspeople mill about, bundled up in shawls and hauling baskets of ingredients for tonight's dinner. A pair of young sisters run past you three, rushing to reach home before their sundown curfew. Steven glances around and notices a larger structure near the village center, boasting a large common room on the ground floor, stables to the side, and a clock tower climbing toward the sky. A wooden sign hangs over the front door, reading Night's Stay 20 Silver in neat, hand-painted script. The air around it smells like cinnamon and mead and freshly baked bread.

"You're sure you're alright?" Steven's voice sounds from behind you, low and tentative. You nod.

"Just thinking," you reply. Your voice doesn't betray you quite as much as before, the words coming out more honestly than when you flinched away from him. Steven hesitates before he helps you down, his own feet landing soon after.

"I'll go see if they have a room tonight," he says, trying to meet your avoidant eyes. "Be right back." The front door of the inn opens with a loud creak and you sigh, leaning your forehead against Nora's side.

"What am I going to do?" You mumble, scratching sweetly at her shoulder. She lets out an impatient snort. Say you're sorry, dummy.

"Fair enough," you whisper. The door creaks open again and Steven emerges from it, bringing with him an enticing cloud of toasty air, thick with the smell of warm spices.

"There's a free room," he says, reaching for Nora's reins. "It has one bed, but I'm fine on the floor." God, he doesn't need to do that.

"I-" The racing of your thoughts starts to fall out of your mouth, your voice frantic and stumbling. "Steven, you don't-"

"It's alright, angel," he insists, with the slightest shake of his head after using the name. "Head inside and eat, I'm sure you're hungry. I'll put Nora up for the night, then I'll come find you."

You decide on a slight, closed-mouth smile instead of making another attempt at words. He was right; you were certainly ready for an actual meal, and even more eager for a real night's sleep, uninterrupted by a wake-up call for primping and preening. The common room of the inn is large, occupied on one side by a kitchen and a large wooden bar, where a few jolly, pink-faced men nurse tankards of mead, letting out occasional barks of laughter at each other's stories. The other half of the room is cozier, with mismatched dining tables and chairs waiting for chilly, hungry patrons. A massive stone fireplace crackles reliably on the back wall, managing easily to warm the entire room.

"You alright?" A kind-looking, older woman calls to you from behind the bar, and your head whips in her direction.

"Y-yes," you reply, accidentally releasing a choke of anxious laughter. "Yes, I am. I'm looking for a dinner table for two?"

"Sit wherever you like," she says warmly, gesturing to the other side of the room. "I'll be by with some tea."

You give her a thankful smile, then turn to scan the dining room. A little square table near the fire catches your eye, perfect for heating you up after a day of traveling against the winter wind and flurries. You take a sit in the chair facing the bar, saving the one nearest to the fire for Steven. As promised, the friendly barmaid approaches with two wooden tankards of hot tea that smells of clove and vanilla.

"Your second joining soon?" She asks, head nodding toward the empty chair as she sets the cups down.

"He is," you say, wrapping your frigid hands around one of the mugs, sighing a little at the warmth. "Just setting up his horse for the night."

"Ah, he's the nice lad that came in earlier," she confirms, setting her hands on her hips. "Good manners and he's not bad to look at. He's a friend?"

A small, sad feeling stirs in your chest again.

"I hope so," you say, trying to muster a polite smile. She notices how you shift a little in your seat, eyes fixating longingly on the front door. Her warm hand settles on your shoulder.

"I'm Agnes, if you need anything," she says gently. "I'll be right back with some bread for you both."

She gives your arm a motherly squeeze before she turns back toward the kitchen. The creak of the door sounds again and you snap to it, seeing Steven enter once more, brushing the snow from his hair. He scans the room until his eyes finally meet yours, and he smiles big before dropping his face, looking to the floor as he walks toward you. The legs of his chair scrape against the floor before he takes his seat across from you.

"Are the stables nice?" You ask, glad you were finally settled enough to form actual words around him instead of choking on your own embarrassment.

"They are," he confirms. "There's a nice fire going in there, too. Nora likes it, and you know how picky she is." You both laugh softly before the air grows tense again. You can't even remember the last time you felt awkward around him, but you certainly remember how terrible it feels.

Agnes sets a wooden basket of steaming bread rolls between you and Steven, dropping a little jar of honey next to it.

"We've got a nice winter soup for dinner tonight," she says, the cheerful lilt thankfully easing the air. "Nice and hot, and it'll fill you up after that day of traveling you've just done." As if on cue, your stomach rumbles eagerly for something warm and comforting. Steven licks his lips.

"We're definitely hungry," Steven says, smiling at her before reaching for a roll, breaking it in half and giving it a generous coating of honey. "Thanks."

Agnes looks over to you.

"It sounds delicious," you confirm eagerly. "Thank you very much, Agnes."

She steps away and over to the kitchen again. You take a roll for yourself, separating it in half as Steven did and drizzling it with honey. The two of you eat in silence, probably filling up a little too much before dinner is even served, but too hungry to care. Steven glances at the final roll, before picking it up and tearing it in half. He extends one of the halves to you and you accept it, almost feeling tiny sparks erupting on the skin where your fingers brush. As you dig into your shared bread, tiny, shy footsteps approach the table, belonging to a little girl with pretty dark eyes and curly dark hair, braided down her back. She's young, maybe five or six, wearing a little green overcoat and holding a sprig of evergreen in her hand. You and Steven both look over.

"E-excuse me," her little voice is nervous and sweet as she looks up at Steven. "I saw your big sword. Are you a knight? A real one?"

He smiles ear to ear.

"I am," he says proudly, making a big show of glancing around the room before he returns his attention to her. "Can you keep a secret?"

She nods eagerly, eyes going owlish.

"This is my princess," he points to you subtly as he whispers to her and she gasps, her head whipping to look at you.

"Really?" She makes an attempt to stay hushed, wanting to make good on her secret-keeping abilities, but too excited to remain entirely discreet. You give her a friendly smile before you nod.

"I am," you say warmly, reaching for one of her hands. She accepts it gladly. "What's your name?"

"I'm Magdalene," she says, pretty dimples appearing in her cheeks as she smiles at you. "Your hair is really pretty."

"Thank you," you say gladly, leaning a little closer. "It's braided, just like yours." Her hand reaches behind her back to touch her own braid. She lets out a gleeful giggle as a man approaches, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"No more running off like that again, darling," he scolds gently, before turning to you and Steven. "I'm so sorry if she was bugging you."

"It's not a problem at all," you assure him, before looking back at the little girl. "It was wonderful to meet you, Magdalene."

She smiles shyly, waving goodbye as her father escorts her back to her family.

When you look back at Steven, the sight of his soft smile and shiny eyes is enough to bring a mist of tears to your own eyes. You force yourself to look away, training your eyes on the wood grain of the table.

The anticipated respite of your night's sleep was never going to be satisfying—not after everything between you and Steven. After dinner, you managed to convince him not to sleep on the floor, only to stir awake a few hours later, feeling emptiness instead of him in the linens. The grogginess leaves your body quickly, muscles tensing and breaths quickening as your head whips around the dark room, searching for a sign of him anywhere. Your worries slow as you finally find his silhouette, outlined by the moonlight and lantern's glow pouring through the window. He sits at the little table underneath the glass panes, gazing out at the empty village square.

You slide out of bed and reach for the matches on the nightstand, striking one to light the candle you blew out before lying down for the night. The room starts to glow warmly as the wick ignites, the smoke and smell of the struck match dissipating into the air. Steven's eyes stay trained on the window. The floor creaks a little under your timid footsteps, inching closer to him and reaching nervously for his bare shoulder with your hand.

"You're awake," you say softly, stroking gently over the freckled skin.

"I scared you," he replies matter-of-factly. "Not sure how I'm supposed to sleep after that." Your breath hitches as the words hit you.

"I'm so sorry, Steven," you say, voice thick with tears that don't quite spill yet.

"You shouldn't be," he says, the warmth of his palm landing on your hand. His fingers naturally wrap around it. You feel a tear spill onto your cheek and you wipe it, taking in a deep breath before you speak again.

"I have some explaining to do," you say with a sniffle as you sit on the bed. "Sit with me. Please?" Steven's shoulders drop before he stands, joining you on the mattress.

"Tell me what scared you so much," he asks softly, reaching for your hand again and holding it between both of his. "Whatever I did, I wanna fix it."

"You didn't do anything," you say, wiping your face with your free hand. "It's my life that I got scared of, that's why I got so strange."

"Your life?"

"You were talking about your dream, what you want to do after we leave," you explain. "You said you wanted to be a father, and that you wanted to have a child with me."

"I do," he responds innocently.

"Steven, I've lived a very lonely life," you start, feeling another wave of tears rise in your eyes. "I've had you, and I'm so grateful for you. You're my best friend in the world. But I have no idea who I am."

Steven's hands tighten around yours ever so slightly.

"The second I was born, I was already someone's wife, someone's mother," you say. "My mother was already older. I was always going to be the only one, and they begged and prayed the entire time she was pregnant that I wouldn't be a girl. I broke everyone's heart."

"Sweetheart, you never-"

"Please," you plead softly. "I need to get this out."

He nods for you to continue.

"Who I really was never mattered to them," you say. "My hopes for myself, what I like, what I don't—it never mattered. All anyone cared about was that I behave agreeably enough until they could finally ship me away to marry someone and give birth to as many babies as it takes to have a boy."

"You won't have to."

"I know," you say. "I know, and that's why I was so embarrassed. You would never force me to live like that, but you deserve to live your dreams too. I don't know if I want to be a mother because I've lived my whole life just accepting that I would be, whether I really wanted to or not."

Steven's head tilts back a little as he pieces things together.

"So, when I said I wanted to have a kid one day..."

"I panicked," you admit. "My brain slipped right back into that stupid engagement meeting, and talking to all of those awful suitors."

"I shouldn't have said that," Steven says, looking over at you and brushing a strand of your now-unbraided hair behind your ear. "I'm so sorry."

"But you don't-"

"It's my turn now," he cuts in softly. "We could have one kid, or six, or not have any at all. All I care is that you're by my side and you're happy. That's the dream."

You smile, a little choked up again.

"Of course, I'd love to have a kid one day," Steven says, shrugging a little. "The reason I said ours is because I think you'd be so good at it, but only if that's what you want."

You lean into his side, sighing as your cheek makes contact with his bare shoulder.

"I should've been more careful," he affirms, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. "I would never take your freedom away like that, angel. You're doing this for yourself, I'm just the lucky idiot that knows how to use a sword."

You both laugh softly, and the aura of tension finally lifts away, leaving you and Steven there each other for the first time since this morning.

"I love you," you finally say, the words leaving you as easily as breath.

"I love you," he says, kissing the top of your head.

Your head cranes upward to face him and you capture his lips softly, a palm pressing to the soft hair of his chest. His hand reaches for your cheek as he kisses back, smiling against your mouth.

Your hands slide to the tops of his shoulders and you push, using the leverage to ease yourself on top of him. Your nightgown fans around the both of you as your thighs nestle on either side of him, his hands finding your waist eagerly.

"We don't have to, angel," he murmurs, centimeters from your face.

"Please," you plead softly, taking his cheeks into your hands. "I want to feel close to you again."

He smiles as he lifts you up by the waist, freeing enough room to pull down his trousers and free his aching cock. You lower yourself again, gasping as his length makes contact with your slick cunt. With a slow rock of your hips, Steven shudders, reaching for your face to kiss you again.

"Take whatever you need from me," he says between messy kisses. "My perfect girl, use me however you want."

You moan softly, tongue darting softly out of your mouth and past his lips. His tongue slides against yours as his big hands dig into your hips, helping you grind against him. Your hand slides down his chest until it disappears beneath your nightgown to wrap around the base of his cock, which twitches slightly at the feel of your hand. A large bead of pre-cum smears under the pad of your thumb.

The stretch as you lower yourself onto him is intense, and delicious. Your eyes squeeze shut, a whimper escaping your lips as your cunt takes in more of him, prompting Steven to bring a hand to your cheek, softly caressing the skin.

"Open those eyes, angel, please." he says tenderly. Your eyes flutter open. "You're doing so good, you feel so fucking perfect. I'm so proud of you."

"Love you so much," you breathe, kissing him hard as your thighs meet once more and you've taken all of him.

"You're my future," he says, hands roaming your back lovingly. "Nothing else matters as long as you're there with me."

Your hips start to rock again, gentle pulses of pleasure building with each movement of his cock inside of you.

"I don't deserve you," you pant.

"No, no angel," he insists. "I'm the lucky one, remember? Please don't say that, you're the greatest thing that's ever happened to anyone. If they can't see that, they're fucking idiots."

Tears fill your eyes again, your hands softly cradling his cheeks.

"Thank you," you whisper, pressing your lips to his as your hips settle, keeping him warm inside of you. "You really believe in me."

He smiles, arms wrapping securely around your waist.

"You're easy to believe in, angel."

author's note: thank you for waiting so patiently for this!! And thank you to everyone who was so kind to me over the last week. It's definitely been a hard time, but working on this and looking forward to everyone's reactions really kept me going. I hope you enjoyed! As always please let me know your thoughts!