Spring.
It's spring now. The flowers are blooming, the rains are slowing, baby animals litter the skies and streets. People walking by smiles on their faces as she looks down and watches them from her balcony. There is green everywhere, and she feels herself smiling too, she's happy, just to be alive.
This is especially true after the tumult she's faced last year: thinking she had lost him, finding out he was alive, waiting anxiously to see him again once Penelo delivered his message. And then finally, their reunion.
She's glad to shed her winter cloaks, glad to feel the sun on her face — warm, but not too hot. She's ready to face the year and just grow.
She's cancelled every meeting she had that day, claiming she didn't feel well. She slipped out though, to meet him at the market after receiving his note, a light hood covering her face from prying eyes, and they spend the day together perusing the stalls, laughing, snacking. She feels like she's normal. This could have been her everyday, had she been born Amalia. She's grateful to him for making this happen, this little sense of normalcy. He's somehow always known just what she's needed, even before she herself had known. Just like when he took her husband's ring as collateral for payment.
That night, they eat dinner under the stars and he brings her onto his ship. He's gentle with her, peppering kisses up and down her body, making her squirm. Tonight, he is all slow torture, dragging it out, prolonging it until she is desperate with need and finally begs him for it. He is the only one who sees her this way, as opposed to the strong but cold Queen. He makes her come alive again, after being buried away all winter. It is a time for new beginnings, after all.
They hold each other there all night, in that familiar bed in his small but cozy room in the Strahl. She inhales his scent as she thinks back to those days in which they adventured together, and how their story began. Trading insults and insolent comments -- annoyance, that turned to lust, that turned into -- well, if she was being honest, she had always found him attractive. Those days were filled with excitement as he would smuggle her into his room. She recalls the first time she entered it, how he watched her as she circled the room, running her fingers along his artifacts, picking some up, putting them down, asking him the stories behind this one or the other.
She had found his stories fascinating. She always has. Not that she gave him the satisfaction of knowing that. She played the haughty princess card instead.
Eventually, he pulled her down onto his lap and kissed her as she wrapped her arms behind his neck. And that, was as they say, that.
She's sure everyone at the palace is worried, wondering where she is, but she cannot bring herself to care. She stays with him that night, but in the early morning, demands he takes her home. He does, they sneak onto her balcony, and she's indoors after one last kiss, searing as it may be.
They silently regard each other for a long moment, the sadness evident in both their eyes. Neither wants to say goodbye, but both know they must, as they have separate lives to live. How long can they keep doing this? She wonders idly before turning away to start her day. She has a country to run, after all.