Séverin had let that happen to his friend.

Worse, he’d let Enrique believe he was unwanted … when he was anything but.

While he was still trying to work out what to say and how to say it, Enrique fell into step beside him. He looked tense … hesitant.

“It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” he asked suddenly. “Reminds me of something you’d commission in L’Eden.”

On Séverin’s other side, Hypnos grumbled, pulling his ermine furs more tightly around his neck. “It’s cold is what it is.”

“Perhaps something for a spring commission,” he found himself saying. “It could be an interesting installation in the lobby. A magical Night Bazaar perhaps.”

Enrique’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. A wary grin touched the historian’s mouth and he nodded. “Perhaps.”

Before, Séverin’s hopes had felt massive and vague … but this was small. This was a hope that could fit inside a room. That at the end of all this winter there would be a spring and something beautiful to mark the occasion.

Smiling to himself, he reached into his breast pocket, past the divine lyre sewn into his jacket by Zofia’s Forged steel threads, and grabbed his tin of cloves. He popped one of them into his mouth, its powerful, burning flavor flooding his senses immediately.

Enrique wrinkled his nose. “I hate that smell.”

“Laila doesn’t mind,” said Hypnos with a knowing grin at Séverin.

In the past, Séverin would have brushed them off and gone silent … but had he not promised them transparency in all things? And were not issues such as this supposed to be discussed among friends? He turned the clove over, letting the bitterness flood his tongue before he said, “Laila minds quite a lot of other things. Including, but not limited to, the reckless disregard of her feelings, faithlessness to our friends, and—her opinion, not mine—an egocentric and zealous pursuit to right my wrongs and protect my loved ones. I doubt she has the space to mind my clove habits.”

Enrique winced, and Hypnos sighed and shook his head.

“And you’ve apologized…?” asked Hypnos.

“Obviously.”

“And reminded her about the, um—” Hypnos wiggled his ring finger.

“Interestingly enough, reminding the woman I love that she’s been carrying around a death sentence didn’t factor into my romantic agenda,” said Séverin coldly.

Enrique smacked Hypnos on the back of his head.

“Ow!” said Hypnos. “It was just a thought! Near-fatal situations make me, ah, comment dire, very amorous, non? Hungry for life! All the more so when you know your situation will soon be remedied.”

“I doubt she would feel similarly,” said Séverin.

Hypnos frowned then snapped his fingers triumphantly. “I know! You should try showing up naked in her bedroom. I call it, La Méthode de L’Homme Nu.”

Séverin and Enrique stopped walking and stared at him.

“The Naked Man Method?” asked Enrique. “Are you serious?”

“I’d rather be naked.” Hypnos crossed his arms. “Trust me, it works. If the lady or gentleman is not intrigued, then they leave the room.”