She finds them on her pillow when she wakes, two perfect blossoms wrapped lightly around each other, their stems intertwined like lovers in an embrace. One a perfect blood red rose, clearly from the palace conservatory given the straightness of the stem and uniform perfection of its petals; the other a shocking cluster of white lace blossoms, stars of the dark forest. She lifts the flowers, careful not to damage the delicate twist and curve of their stems, and examines them with eyes still drooping and heavy from sleep.
They are in perfect balance, wrapped around each other in an embrace of contrast. One is bold and striking; beautiful, crimson petals emitting a delicately intoxicating fragrance that lures you in, masking the threatening darkness of thorns that will prick the skin and draw blood the moment you drop your guard. The other is wild and unruly; a smattering of white blooms with moss green leaves that fan out and surround the rose as if embracing it from all sides, softening the harshness and protecting against the thorns. One formed in captivity, stoic and straight, perfumed and polished, the other rustic and simple, clean and fresh like sunshine and open air, not unlike herself and the thief.
A sleepy smile spreads slowly across her face as she twirls the flowers between her fingers, watching as they twist and curl like partners in an elaborate dance. She brings the pair to her nose and inhales the mixture of scents, closing her eyes to savor the way they blend, the harmony and the difference. Releasing her breath on a soft sigh she rests the petals against her lips, imaging their perfumed softness to be the press of a kiss, lingering and sweet.
"I see you found my gift M'lady," she hears a familiar voice from across the room, still rough from sleep but beginning to warm around the edges.
"Hmm, that I did," she purrs in response, lifting the blossoms from her lips and watching through hooded eyes as he approaches the bed. "Quite a unique way of arranging flowers, who knew an outlaw had such a delicate touch?"
"Why don't you set those aside where they won't be crushed and I can show just how 'delicate' of a touch I have?" he questions with a quirk or his eyebrow, throwing her that lopsided grin that always makes her insides melt.
Carefully placing the fragile flowers on her bedside table, she gives them one last lingering glance before turning back and wrapping herself around the carefree, forest scented thief she's come to love, content to spend the morning locked in an embrace of their own.