Disclaimer: The amount of ownership I have over these characters is proportional to the number of books Kristin Cashore has published since Bitterblue.

Teddy sat in a chair before the fire, his hands fiddling in the blanket draped over his legs. Bren and Tilda were in the other room hard at work over the press, but it was quiet where Bitterblue sat, thinking of entries for Teddy's book of words.

"Elucidate."

"That's just insulting," Teddy retorted. His eyes were smiling as he gazed past the flickering flames.

"Placate?" she offered.

"Hmm. I might have that one already, but it sounds rather new."

"Bulwark. Chimerical-"

"Chimerical!" Teddy cried, reaching for his blotter on the table at his side. "What a truly incredible word! What does it mean?"

Teddy's pen began scratching at the paper just as Saf entered the room. He had been helping the girls with their printing, or that was what Teddy had said, and Bitterblue had not seen or heard from him all night. "Highly unrealistic, wildly fanciful."

Saf stopped suddenly at the sound of her voice, his expression surprised when he caught her eye. Ashen, her mother, had taught her that word many years ago. Bitterblue supposed that it had borne deeper meaning to her mother then, but it was not until now, as she and Saf sat frozen in silence, that she finally understood the painful longing laced in every letter of the word. Something of a dream, but just out of reach.

"Astonishing," Teddy murmured to himself as he copied the definition. That small sound broke the fragile moment between Saf and Bitterblue, and Saf's expression hardened. Bitterblue felt his resentment deep in her gut like a poison. It pained her that he had not yet forgiven her. They had made progress, baby steps, with every interaction, but the harshness with which he regarded her felt as restraining as the plaster of her cast had. She had no choice but to live with it until the it had fully healed and the time came for it to take its leave.

Teddy looked up from his work, finally seeing the awkward scene before him. "Well," he said as he gathered his blanket and pushed himself upright, "that should be enough work for one night. My abdomen still pains me, and Madlen tells me I must rest to maintain my recovery." He leaned down, kissing the top of Bitterblue's head tenderly as he passed. "Have a safe journey home, Lucky."

She smiled at the nickname, wishing him a good night in return. Saf had not moved, but patted Teddy's shoulder as he exited the room. The glare Teddy threw his friend was not angry, but knowing. It was a glare that said, "Be kind to her." Saf rolled his eyes, giving his companion a light shove toward the stairs.

The charge between them was instant once Teddy disappeared up the stairway. If Saf felt it as well, Bitterblue could not tell. His eyes had softened over the months, but his arms were crossed over his chest, and the bitter smirk on his lips did not make his stance any more inviting.

"Perhaps I should return to the palace," Bitterblue said on a sigh, standing to collect her things. She recognized Saf's attitude tonight. He was in the mood to argue, and she was far too tired to fight with him.

"You aren't seriously thinking of trekking home now, are you?" Saf's tone contained surprise, though she had expected malice.

"If Helda finds me not in my bed in the morning, I'll never hear the end of it." She adjusted the knife in the holster on her right arm. She was now healed enough that the weight of the blade and discomfort of the leather straps were bearable. That was why she had finally been permitted to visit the shop again.

"Have you even looked outside?" he asked with a gesture toward the front window. It had been snowing when Bitterblue had arrived, but when she glanced at the window now, the glass was nothing more than a sheet of white. "It began not long ago," Saf continued, strolling toward her. "It nearly knocked me off the roof."

"What were you doing on the roof in this weather?" she asked as she shrugged on her cloak.

Saf shrugged, not answering her question. She took a step toward the door. "You really shouldn't go," he said, blocking her with an outstretched arm. She leaned back, regarding him curiously. He would not budge. "People die in these storms, Sparks," he said. "You'd be lucky to find your way home, and luckier still if you didn't freeze to death on the way." He kept speaking, advising her on the perils of traveling on foot in winter weather, but Bitterblue heard none of it. She hung onto one word he had uttered.

Bitterblue smiled as she interrupted him. "You called me Sparks," she said happily, her voice barely a whisper.

She expected to see him backtrack, run over what he had just said and find his mistake, and then declare it as such. "So I did," he admitted.

This caught Bitterblue off guard. "What, no fight? Are you ill?" He did not laugh. She met his eye and found a softness there, just the same as the night they kissed in the graveyard. It nearly knocked the breath from Bitterblue.

"Every day," he began, his voice strained, "I realize more and more that you were right. I was a child. I have treated you unfairly." He held her eyes fiercely. "I was angry with my queen, for it seemed she had stolen Sparks from me. It felt worse than any crime of Leck's." Saf drew in a deep shuddering breath.

"I am your queen, yes," Bitterblue began gently, carefully. "But when you strip away the title and the fancy gowns and servants, Sparks is at the very core of who I am." She wanted so terribly to take his hand, to grasp his arm, to touch him. But she could not-would not-take his touch until it was freely given. To do so would be unforgivable.

His eyes held hers. She had not realized until that moment that he was just a hair's breadth away, his chest almost brushing hers. It was difficult to breathe with him this close.

"Stay here tonight," he breathed. When she slept here last, it had been her begging to stay. Now his eyes were clear and raw, and she knew how much of him it took to ask her, how it came less from concern, though the concern was there. He needed her near.

"Helda will have my head."

"You may blame the storm and me," he said, though he knew she would make no mention of him. Bitterblue had very little fight left in her. "Consider this a peace offering." Saf extended his hand, palm up, waiting for her to accept it. "I will personally escort you home once the sun is out."

Bitterblue weighed her options. She could either venture home in the snowstorm, Saf would insist on joining her, and she would put both their lives in jeopardy. Or she could stay here and condemn herself to Helda's angry lecturing tomorrow for a safe night of sleep before the fire.

She relented, slipping out of her cloak and laying it on the back of Teddy's chair. It would serve as her blanket tonight. She reached for Saf's hand, letting him entwine his fingers in hers.

It felt as if she had been holding her breath for months and had just rediscovered her lungs. The feel of just his hand in hers was overwhelming.

Saf tugged on her arm, pulling her close. He could nearly rest his chin atop her head. He wrapped an arm around her, holding her to him. The smell of him wafted over her, a contrast between the pure smell of the freshly fallen snow and the dark, smoky smell of the press. They mingled together beautifully, smelling so much like him.

Saf pressed his lips to her forehead and she closed her eyes against it, leaning into him. She realized that her mouth was hanging open her lips parted, and tried to control her breathing. His lips slowly trailed from her forehead to her cheek and planted a kiss there as well. To the tip of her nose. Another kiss. Bitterblue was entirely lost in him. This was why love was so dangerous to a royal Something like that, that held so much power over a person with power, could tear people apart and lead to the destruction of nations.

But Bitterblue was not afraid when Saf tucked a finger under her chin, lifting her face up toward his. His lips hovered dangerously close, and she ached for him to close the space between them.

"Truce?" he breathed. She laughed, shoving his shoulder.

"Truce." Finally, his lips on hers.

As he kissed her, Bitterblue felt the warmth of the fire coursing through her veins, pulling her closer to him. Her heart raced, thrumming against his chest. Saf kissed her again, again, again, his hand moving to her face. He brushed her hair from her eyes tenderly, and when the tears came he brushed those away, too.

Bitterblue finally turned her face from him to catch her breath and collect herself. He rested his head against hers, his breathing labored. His hands made movements down her neck, his fingers trailing across her collarbone, down her arms.

She pulled away moving to the chair. "I should sleep if we are to leave early."

Saf grasped at her hand, not allowing her to leave him. "Not here." She turned back to him. Surely he did not mean for her to sleep in his room? In his bed? With him? "I will sleep sounder knowing you are near," he confessed. "I have not slept well these last months." Truthfully, neither had she between her injuries, her father's journals, the murders and disappearances, and her aching longing for him.

"Lead the way," she said.

A smirk flickered onto his lips. "As you wish, Lady Queen." She swatted at him and his face broke into a full smile. He was so beautiful when he was happy. Bitterblue followed him upstairs to the apartments above the shop.

Bitterblue had never seen their rooms. She knew there were three, one for Bren and Tilda, one for Teddy, and one for Saf. She was unsurprised to find Saf's room small and rather empty. A bed, which took up most of the room, a small desk, and a tiny closet. Saf went to the closet, pulling down an old, rather tattered blanket and a spare pillow. "What are you doing?"

Saf spread the blanket on the few feet separating the bed from the wall. "You take the bed. I'll sleep here."

She sat. "You are not sleeping on your own floor," she protested.

"And neither are you," he shot back. He met her eye. "I don't mind. Really."

He tossed the pillow toward the head of his makeshift bed and Bitterblue stood, snatching it from the air. "I don't care." He shook his head. "I refuse to uproot you, even if only for one night."

"It seems our stubbornness has left us at an impasse." She stuck her chin in the air. It was an act of confidence, really. He true desire scared her, so she rebelled against it. Sharing a man's bed seemed so much more daunting now that she was alone with Saf in his room.

She took a deep breath, leveling her gaze at him and willing her fear to be stuffed away. "There's no sense in arguing, really, when the bed is large enough to fit two."

His eyebrows rose at that. "Are you suggesting that we share my bed?" he asked incredulously. Bitterblue shrugged.

"It's only logical."

"Oh, really?" He sidled closer, his fingers making their way down her ribs to her hips, pulling her closer with gentle hands. She gripped his arms and clenched her jaw, holding tight to her self control.

Saf leaned in close, just barely brushing her lips with his before moving on. When his lips reached her jaw, his grip behind her back tightened. His mouth explored the skin of her neck, and she found her head falling back to allow him more room. His tongue flicked at the spot where her pulse beat, stirring up a fire deep in her gut.

"What is so bad about logic?" she asked, cursing herself as her voice shook. Saf chuckled against the skin of her throat and she gasped. He stood straight again and locked eyes with her.

"Logic stifles the heart."

Bitterblue could not fight herself anymore. She wrapped her arms around his neck, raising onto her tiptoes to kiss him. His lips kneaded at hers furiously, and she could feel the need growing inside her.

It only took a moment for them to find themselves on his bed, shoes left tumbling at its foot. Saf laid Bitterblue gently on his sheets, pressing his weight into her lightly. She could feel his need digging into her thigh and giggled to herself, which only fueled him.

Saf sat up, straddling her, and pulled off his shirt in one swift motion. Bitterblue wished to take the time to admire him, but he was upon her again before she had the chance. She searched for the hem of her shirt, cursing herself as she tried to pull it off.

He found her hand, stilling it with his own. He pulled back, finding her eyes. "Sparks, are you sure this is what you want?"

"I am."

He lifted her from the bed, slowly pulling the cloth of her shirt over her head. It was tossed out of sight. Saf's eyes never left hers as he coaxed her onto her back, his hands growing gentle. The feel of his skin on hers was bliss. His hands explored her skin, her stomach her sides, and she gasped as he found his way to her breast.

She remembered the moment in her room, crying before the mirror, crippled by the fear that she was not beautiful, that she was unlovable, that someday she would share a man's bed and he would find her unsatisfactory. In this moment, that fear was nowhere to be found. Saf loved her, and he did not have to say the words for her to know it. She moved with him as they explored one another, remolded and rediscovered. Saf kissed down her chest, down her stomach, searching with his mouth.

"Sparks," he breathed, kissing just below her ribs.

She reached for him, bringing his eyes to hers. "Say my real name," she whispered. He breathed for a moment.

"Bitterblue." Hearing him say it raised goosebumps on her skin. He kept whispering her name, again and again, between kisses on her skin, on her lips, as they relieved themselves of their trousers and found the sheets the only thing between them.

As they tossed and turned, they whispered each other's names, those being the only words they needed to express how deep their caring ran. Saf was gentle, and Bitterblue was not nervous as they trusted each other in this moment of the greatest vulnerability. There were no trust games this time, for as they wrestled in the sheets, he was always there to catch her.

Saf finally collapsed by her side. As they struggled to control their breathing, he reached over, tracing patterns on her cheeks and whispering her name. Bitterblue. Oh, Bitterblue. It made her heart ache. She turned to him, curled into his body, found comfort there. He kissed the top of her head, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

There, safe in his embrace, Bitterblue could not help the tears that rose to her eyes. Though she had Saf now, she knew he was not one to be restrained, even by his own love. Asking him to marry her, to live in the palace, even if she gave him a position in court, would be like caging a bird. He was happier when he was free. If she truly loved him, she must trust that no matter how many times he flew away, he would always find his way back to her. She cried, for she slowly accepted that soon, Saf would leave her. The pain and beauty of it all broke her heart.

He held her, let her cry, understanding her pain. He did not fight her, did not offer empty words of comfort. Finally, she fell asleep there in his arms, knowing that whatever the future held, tonight she laid in the arms of someone who loved her, who she loved.

And that was something to be truly thankful for.

"Beg your pardon Lady Queen," Helda said, drawing Bitterblue's attention from her work. She had been slaving over reports from her new ministries all morning. A glance at the window and the way the sun shone in told her she had been working well past lunch. How had she lost the time?

"Yes, Helda?" She pushed the pages aside, realizing now how her back and head ached from the work.

"The party from the Dells has returned. They were spotted riding into the city and will arrive in the courtyard soon."

The party from the Dells had returned. The group, full of Bitterblue's most trusted friends and newest clerks, had left for the Dells, a newly discovered country that lay through a tunnel in the mountains of Estill, nearly a year and a half ago. She had received a few notes from Skye over their visit, but their communication was scarce. Bitterblue was anxious to reunite with her friends, one in particular, and hear what they had learned from the people of this new, advanced country, their new ally.

Bitterblue stood with a smile. "Well, we shouldn't keep them waiting."

As Helda followed Bitterblue from her rooms and through the castle to the courtyard, Bitterblue's mind raced. Po was returning soon from the crisis in Estill, which had just recently been brought to a conclusion. The people struggled to overthrow Thigpen, but the great minds of the Council and the subtlety of the lords of Estill they allied with were finally able to apprehend the king and place their lords at the head of the country as a temporary solution. The group would finally return to Monsea to regroup and assess, and to revisit with each other and Bitterblue. She could hardly wait for the grand reunion.

Skye and Po would be reunited, which would surely ease Po's worry that his brother would never forgive him for withholding the truth of his Grace, that he was a sort of mind reader. Skye had joined the party the day before its departure to take his leave from his brother, which had greatly distressed Po. The two were very close and Bitterblue hoped to see them lay their hurt aside.

Lord Giddon would be returning as well, from his Council business across the seven kingdoms. He had secretly returned to the Middluns to visit his scorched estate and escaped being discovered by Randa's men, who had banished him, for which Bitterblue was thankful. The letter she had received after that trip nearly broke her heart. She and Giddon always told truth to each other, no matter what, and his letter was raw. He told her how he kneeled at the edge of his stables, which was now nothing but ashes mingled in the dirt, and wept. He secretly found a few of his employees, who had gone home, and had sent them to Bitterblue at her request. She had found them all employment in the east city or the palace and Giddon had poured his gratitude into every correspondence following.

The one person she had not heard from over the many months was Saf. He had requested to go with the group to the Dells, and she had allowed it, knowing it best. Though they parted as friends, Bitterblue missed him with an unbearable ache at times. Though he was far from perfect, as sailor-thieves tend to be, he truly knew her, and she truly knew him, in more than one way. She had allowed herself to be more open to him than with anyone else, even Giddon. Not having that person near was a torture in and of itself. She hoped that he would be happy to see her. Perhaps he would stay for a while before leaving for his next adventure.

The courtyard was beautiful as ever. The glass ceilings let the sunshine in, but kept some of the heat out, which was a blessing. The fountain trickled amicably, the water running like Bitterblue's thoughts. "Patience, Lady Queen," Helda said, her stern voice laced with maternal love, "they will be here soon."

They did not have to wait long, for only a few minutes later, the party strode into the great courtyard, stable hands following them to lead their horses away. Bitterblue scanned the crowd, searching for familiar faces. She found Skye, who lit up at the sight of her.

"Skye!" she cried, abandoning all decorum and running to him, throwing herself into his waiting arms. He kissed her cheeks and squeezed her.

"Cousin! I'd hoped you would have grown since I last saw you." She swatted at him playfully. It was wonderful to have him back.

They fell into step with the rest of the party, who murmured softly, trying to distract themselves from listening in. "How were the Dells?"

"Indescribable, Lady Queen," Skye replied. He looked well, buoyancy in his step and a wonder in his eyes. "But I will try my best to put our trip into words for you as we eat, for I am famished." She laughed, glancing around again. She barely recognized most of the faces around them.

"Did Lady Fire return with you?"

Skye shook his head. "She planned to spend more time with her husband, now that they would not have to look over us. We will hear from her in a few months to discuss our next meeting." Bitterblue nodded. She wished to meet Lady Fire's husband, to see her country for herself. She wished to meet King Nash and discuss strategy from him, for a man of seventy-seven who had been in power for nearly fifty years was a wise man, indeed, and someone she could greatly look up to.

Bitterblue leaned in close, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Where is Saf?"

"Sapphire was following close behind, Lady Queen," he responded quietly. "He should only be a moment." Of course.

Bitterblue stepped to the front of the group, commanding their attention. "It is a pleasure to welcome you all back to Monsea." The party cheered. "We have much to discuss, and I cannot wait to hear all that you have learned. But you all must be starving, so please follow Helda into the great hall, where a welcome feast awaits you." Another cheer, and the mass started moving toward the eastern doors. She stopped Skye as he passed. "I will need to talk to you the most. Food will be sent to my sitting room for you. I will join you there momentarily." He nodded and moved toward the northern entrance.

Sure enough, just as the courtyard emptied, Saf appeared in view. Bitterblue was nearly struck by the sight of him. His hair had grown long again, sticking endearingly in the air at odd angles. He had grown, perhaps an inch, and his face looked older. Perhaps it was the stubble that covered his chin. She smiled at him as he approached.

There was something so sturdy about him now. Perhaps it was the way he moved, his shoulders back and straight, his gaze at the world wizened and less calculating, less mischievous. "Lady Queen," he said, bowing to her where he stood a few feet away.

"Welcome back, Saf." He stood, taking her hand and placing a kiss on her knuckles.

"I've missed you, Sparks." She laughed, throwing her arms around his shoulders. He hugged her tight, and it finally felt like a missing piece of her had been returned.

Pulling away, she asked, "Did you find the Dells to your satisfaction?"

His eyes lit up. "There has never been such a wonderful place." She was surprised to hear so much passion in his words.

"And how was your time with Lady Fire?"

"Lady Fire is an incredible woman," he said, pushing a lock of hair from his eyes. "I spent most of my time with Prince Brigan, observing his daughter as she commanded King Nash's armies. You would be astounded, Sparks. Prince Brigan could do a lot of good with the Monsean guard, even with the Lienid guard."

"You sound a bit like Teddy." He grinned at that.

She must bring Prince Brigan to Monsea. The Monsean guard was still lacking after the betrayal of its head guard. His replacement was doing rather well, but rebuilding trust amongst her entire administration and rebuilding the foundation of her nation's army was a large task. The Monsean army would not be what it once was for a great many years.

Bitterblue lowered her voice, though no one was around to hear them. "Were they exactly like in the stories? The monsters?"

His face grew serious. "There are many of them there." He glanced about. "The stories are true, all of them." Bitterblue's heart sank a little at this news. She was still healing, and every instance of discovering that Leck's imaginary world was true reopened a small wound in her heart.

"I want to hear more, but I'm afraid Skye will be waiting for me in my sitting room." She hated to part with him, not knowing what his plans were.

"And I am anxious to see Teddy and Tilda and Bren." Bitterblue knew from recent discussions with them that they, as well, were eager to see Saf.

"Will you come to my rooms tonight?" she asked in a scratchy whisper.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "For an experiment?"

She chuckled. "We shall see."

Saf ducked his head to kiss her cheek, just outside her lips. "I will find you tonight." Bitterblue nodded gratefully and he disappeared toward the east city, where he would be reunited with his friends. She was happy to see him so well.

She and Skye ate in her sitting rooms, discussing the discoveries of the Dells. The Pikkians and Dellians had lived quite nearly in harmony since the great war that divided their countries nearly fifty years ago. The losses were devastating, and the countries were rebuilt with great care and intention, just as Bitterblue was doing here.

"Brigan gave me this for you," Skye said suddenly, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and retrieving a small, leather-bound journal. "He recorded strategies from discussions with his brother, the king, over the years. He wished to send more, but he wanted to give you some aid in the restructuring of Monsea." Bitterblue was immensely grateful to this stranger who provided her with much-needed help. Lady Fire probably set him to the task, but she was thankful nonetheless.

They avoided the topic of the monsters, mostly talking of their government, the people, the size of their lands. The Dells sounded beautiful, a place far different than the seven kingdoms. As Death was recovering in the infirmary after the fire in the library, Bitterblue had visited him frequently, taking lessons on the Dellian language, anticipating a visit there in the coming years. Bitterblue was thrilled for the opportunity of their new relationship with the Dellians and Pikkians.

The evening flew by rather quickly between her meeting with Skye, who revealed he was anxious to make amends with his little brother as quickly as possible, and the frequent visits by the lords that accompanied the party, reporting their findings. Bitterblue wrote as much of it down as possible, and by the end of the last visit, her hand cramped terribly. Helda insisted on helping her bathe and settle into bed, but Bitterblue sent her away, protesting that she was simply ready to fall into bed and needed no assistance.

Bitterblue settled into bed in her shift with Brigan's journal. There was much in there, some of the entries being roughly transcribed conversations between him and his older brother. He made many mentions of another brother, Garan, who had died many years ago, but had been the financial supervisor for the Dells and was truly a knowledgeable man. The king and his advisors had followed his financial plans and structure for many years after his death and had found them incredibly successful.

A small knock came at the window and Bitterblue nearly jumped out of her skin. She had almost nodded off, forgetting that Saf was to visit her. She tore her bed linens off and opened the window quietly. Saf dropped in from a small hanging board, the same one the workers used to caulk the windows.

"Did anyone see you?" she asked as she shut and locked the window.

"I have not been here in a while, but I have not forgotten the art of discretion," he retorted, sounding mildly offended at her question. They both settled on her bed, sitting cross-legged across from each other.

"Tell me about the monsters," Bitterblue said. They would plague her until she really knew.

Saf told her as much as he knew. The monsters manipulated your mind, just as Leck did, he said. There were flying monsters, monsters that looked like normal animals in the seven kingdoms, like the rat Katsa brought back. Hunting them was an everyday occurrence in the Dells. Lady Fire had to pay special attention because monsters were driven by the smell of the flesh of other monsters. She was a constant target."

This brought chills to Bitterblue's skin, but she sat and listened intently. It was just as Leck's story said, as she had read in journals and observed in tapestries as long as she remembered. These monsters were real.

Saf stopped when he had told her as much as he knew. "What do you think?" he asked, genuinely curious to know.

"Leck was right," she said, dumbfounded. "The fictional world he tried and failed to create is real." She looked into her hands, pulling at threads on her blankets. "I hate that he was right."

Saf reached out, lifting her chin. "Leck was never right. The Dells are real, yes. But he was wrong to think he could ever recreate Monsea into the place he could never have." His eyes were full, commanding her attention. "Monsea is not the Dells. You appreciate Monsea for what it is. That is why you are a better ruler. You have the belief in your country he never had."

Bitterblue was silent, questions bubbling to the tip of her tongue. She had been dying to ask him these questions for months, but she had laid them to rest. There was no better time than this moment, while she had him there.

"Why didn't you write me?" she whispered. Saf dropped his hand, retreating from her.

"You needed time to heal." He swallowed "And so did I." He was right. She knew that would be his answer all along, but now that she heard it from his mouth, it would stop eating at her.

"Do you plan to stay in the east city for any amount of time?"

"I thought I might travel the seven kingdoms. I have not been to any of them but Lienid and Monsea. There is so much waiting to be seen." Bitterblue nodded. Of course he would want to travel. Now that he had seen the Dells, he would want to see anything and everything.

"I have a proposition for you," she began. Bitterblue knew her chances with Saf were slim, but she had one offer to make him. It would tell her everything she needed to know, everything she needed to expect. He was a blank slate before her, showing no hesitation or dread. "I have one position still left to fill in my administration. My new Ministry of Reparations is in dire need of someone to lead it." His brow furrowed slightly. "It is a position that would work closely with the Ministry of Truths as well as with Teddy in the Ministry of Education. It would require much travel, mostly through Monsea but occasionally to the other kingdoms, to take notes of all the damage done by Leck." She shook her head, hardly able to believe the impossible task she was undertaking. "My country cannot move into the future if it is still bleeding from its past. I must make amends and heal my people so that we may take strides together for a better tomorrow." She looked up, meeting his eye, feeling less the queen and more the timid kitchen girl she once pretended to be. "If you wish it, the position is yours to take. You are my first choice, but not my only."

He sat thinking, and she could see the gears turning in his head. "Salaried?"

"Of course," she responded. "And part time. You will not have to give up the life you live to carry this department." She took care not to let her eyes show how desperately she wanted him to take the position. Bitterblue knew that no one had the heart or mind for this job better than he. And she wanted to keep him close, if only to know that he would never leave and never return.

"Will I still be able to call you Sparks?" His eye twinkled, and she cracked a smile.

"Outside of business, always." He raised a brow at her.

"And how much time "outside of business" do you expect we will spend with one another?" he asked coyly, scooting closer. Bitterblue allowed her face to fall, revealing the fear she felt just underneath her carefully formed facade.

"I can't know for certain. I was rather hoping you would tell me." He took her hand, tracing her palm with his fingertip. A chill ran down her back.

"This job," he began, thinking aloud, "would make me a nobleman, would it not?"

"Yes."

"It would allow me a place in the palace, but freedom to travel when I wish?"

"Your leash would be long."

"Am I still allowed to steal?"

"Why do you think I offered you the job?" He cracked a smirk at that. Bitterblue did not mention the part of herself that she was offering with the position. She did not need to tell him, for he already knew.

He lifted his head, his expression soft. "It sounds like a perfect balance."

Bitterblue's breath hitched. "Does that mean you accept?"

He leaned his forehead against hers, pulling her palm up to rest against his beating heart. "It would be my honor, Lady Queen." She exhaled, feeling the knot in her stomach release.

"Lady Queen, it's been a wonderful chat, but I would like to speak with Sparks now, if you please." She laughed, shoving his shoulder playfully. He pounced on her, pushing her onto her back. They wrestled there, him trying to pin her arms and her trying to throw him off, though she knew she had no chance. Finally, he caught both her hands and pinned them over her head, hovering over her, laughing. "Hello."

"Hello." Saf leaned down, pressing his lips to hers. She did not fight him. She did not fight the desire than ran through her very core. She followed as he led her to a place she had not been for a long time, had only been before with him. It was a sweet and gentle hello, full of promise, but not weighed down by expectation.

That night, wrapped securely in his arms, she dreamed. The dream that found her was bright and vivid. She was older, standing before a crowd of cheering people. Her people. At her side stood a man whose face she could not quite see. A young girl took her hand, beaming up into her face. Your daughter, the dream whispered to her. She waved at the people, who were happy and strong. Monsea was beautiful and bright, the place it always could be. And it was because of her. Because of her love for her kingdom and her dedication to being the best monarch in the seven kingdoms.

She looked off to the side and a familiar face stood, just apart from the group. It was Saf. He looked older, but his eyes were young. He gave her a small smile and lifted his hands, clapping for her. And she remembered Saf's Grace. He had given her this dream. He wanted her to know that no matter what, he would always be there for her. She slept more soundly than she had in months.

When Saf left her bed in the morning, kissing her forehead before he slipped out her window, she did not beg him to stay, did not ask him when he would return. She simply whispered, "Thank you." And he understood, as Saf always would.

And Bitterblue was thankful.