#kentlyn

He finds her right where he expects to, in the south garden, sitting at the edge of the small lake. The dress her advisers had insisted she’d wear tonight is hiked up to her knees, but some water has still managed to reach it.

“Milady,” Kent calls. She jumps a little, then relaxes as he recognises his voice. No answer.

“Lady Lyndis…” he tries again, circling the bank to get a closer look at her. Stubborn as always, she doesn’t move her eyes from high above the hedge of the garden. She seems to be talking the sky, in that ruined silk dress of her. How serene a sight.

He fights against the heat that rushes to his cheeks. “…Lyn.”

The girl finally turns her head to him, a small smile on her lips.

It fades almost instantly when he speaks again. “Refusing to talk with Lord Erik during the annual celebrations of the end of the war might be seen as an offence on Caelin’s part,” he sighs, “as I’ve already told you.”

“As I’ve already told you, they’re free to think what they want, it’s not like the things I do are going to matter anymore.” She pouts, “Besides, the people inside are dancing, so I have no reason to join them now.”

“Maybe you should dance, too.”

“If you really want me to, get here and make me.” She keeps dangling her legs in the cold water, almost anxiously.

“Unless you don’t want to.”

That does it. He sees Lyndis smirk, and he can’t tell if he’s been manipulated or if she’s genuinely surprised, but predictably, he’s taking her wrist and helping her out of the water. She immediately sets her other hand on his shoulder, and he can’t help but sigh again.

The former, without a doubt.

Kent starts to move. He steps blindly on the grass and she follows a little too eagerly, with her head low on the damp skirt, and her face bright. Though she’d often complained about the lessons she’d gotten from Lord Hausen, she seems to enjoy twirling around. He knows those are fond memories of hers; times of peace, her late grandfather, the feeling of the wind.

She steps on his feet and he on hers, and they slow down gradually, until they’re both still again, and Lyn’s grey eyes pierce right through him.

“You got my last dance as Lady Caelin. You should be proud.” She jokes, and Kent smiles.

“You decided then?”

She shrugs her shoulders, “I made my choice back when I told you the first time.” The wind blows past them, carrying the scent of candles and wildflowers. “…I’ve been waiting to hear of yours.”

He hesitates for a second, then brings Lyn’s hand to his lips. A kiss, at the point of her fingers. Just like her pleased smile, it’s flirty, a little scandalous.