Lex was married, which wasn't a big deal — she saw him like before, now balancing her along with a pregnant wife.
Azel, unsurprisingly, wasn't married, free to pester him. Without Father Claud around she needed to bug someone.
"You can have my gloves," Azel offered, lost in Sailane in search of a glover. One of the Silessians gave her directions, but Sailane was a sprawling, unfamiliar castle with tight knots passing as streets, signs worn down. Hosting Sir Sigurd's forces shocked them all. "I have two pairs."
"Why do you have two sets?"
He shrugged. "Just do."
Tailtiu looked at his hands, knowing the shape well (or had; he left). They wouldn't fit too poorly, for how soft a boy he was. Little details to be concerned with: the sculpt of his palm, the ridge of his knuckles, the curve of his wrists, how he shuffled through tomes.
"Nah," she decided, grabbing his sleeve. They could be separated again. He left with no word to her, and until he was in Agustria and writing letters, she assumed he… Azel was hardly a fighter. She knew she had it in her, but never thought he did. "Maybe I want something special."