the space between them was nothing, trulyâshe could have reached out and touched the linen at his sleeve, his fingers still flexing like they didnât know where to restâbut it felt far more vast than it looked. and still, she could tell her cedric was there again, behind the weariness and regret. he looked at her like he always did, even after everything, but the ache in her chest only deepened for it. she supposed she had done that, pulling this from him. laena had thought herself brave for naming her desires aloud. now she just felt foolish. not because it was wrong to want, but because it had cost him something to hear it.
guilt pulled heavy in her gut now, for speaking it aloud. she hadnât meant to make something sacred feel like a demand. hadnât meant to make him feel caged by the future she didnât even know how to name. of course he would have children. it was his duty. it just wouldnât be her. and no matter how gently she tried to hold that truth in her hands, it still cut.
she stood there in silence, the weight of everything pressing in on her ribs. she watched two butterflies flit by between the branches, careless and untouched by what had just broken open here. they moved like the world hadnât shiftedâlike something hadnât just changed in her. something permanent. she didnât speak right away. the orchard was still holding its breath around them, and she let herself listen to it, listen to him. the low rustle of branches, the gentle shift of his stance. he wasnât angry. not really. just honest. and somehow that hurt more.
âmy father was mad, yes,â she said quietly, voice thin. âbut my mother was more than a rumor. more than the shame they made her carry.â her throat tightened, and she looked down, not trusting herself to meet his gaze. âi just never thought⊠i donât know. i suppose i hoped it wouldnât ever matter here, ever be spoken like that between us.â
the basket, now more a burden than a comfort, slipped from her arm with more force than she meant, landing with a soft thud against the moss. a few berries tumbled out, rolling into the grass, and she didnât look at them. instead, she crossed her arms over her chest like a shield. âit bothers me,â she said finally. âit always has. itâs mine to carry, i know that. but itâs there.â
when he spoke again, when he said it wasnât about her, something shifted. something deeper than embarrassment or hurt. because she could see how it hollowed him too, this idea of fatherhood, not as joy, but obligation. not as warmth, but strategy. and gods, didnât that burn in a different way? she wanted to reach for him, to pull him close, to cradle the ache in him as much as the one in herself, but the divide between them felt sacred now. she didnât want to make it worse by pretending there wasnât one.
âchange,â she echoed softly, blinking a few times before lifting her gaze. âthatâs the thing, isnât it? change will come whether you want it or not. youâll have to marry. youâll have to have children. the path will shape itself around you whether you walk it or not. in highgarden.â she swallowed, her voice barely holding. âbut you want here, me, this place to remain the same. is that it?â
she understood that, in a way. the orchard, hollywell, was her safe haven too. a place she could shape with her hands, where things grew if you nurtured them. perhaps it would have to be enoughâfor both of them.
laena stepped forward, slowly, and this time, she didnât stop herself. her fingers found his, light and tentative at first, then firmer as they laced with his. âyou are what i want,â she said, barely above a whisper. âand iâll take what you can give me. this place. your time. your sharp eyes and steady hands.â there was a breathy laugh, but the humor didn't quite reach her eyes.
she gave a small squeeze of his hand, her thumb brushing lightly against his skin as though she might offer comfort through touch alone. her lip trembled, eyes stinging, and it took a quiet, careful breath for her to find her voice again. "i'm sorry, too, cedric," she said softly, a breath catching in her throat. "i wonât ask you to explain why you feel the way you do. maybe i don't need to understand it. i just..i shouldn't have pushed. i asked for too much."
her lilac gaze lifted to meet his, open and aching. "but this... this is enough for me. being near you. knowing you still want me here. that you want us at all." her voice softened, curling at the edges like a frayed ribbon. "i know what choice i made. i would choose it again."