Then he closed the distance. Determined, pensive strides quickening to match her own. His arms opened wide a scant second before she threw herself against him, and he crushed her in his embrace, overcome with such emotion he fell to his knees, taking her with him.

He cupped the back of her head as his arms pressed her to his chest. And he kissed her. This woman who ruled his very heart. This woman who owned his very soul. He branded her for all the world to see, kissed the very breath from her. Tasted each tear upon her lovely face while hushing her whispered apologies with those of his own. Which was a feat in itself considering his people’s ridiculously loud cheers.

He finally pulled away, gripping her shoulders to bring her within an inch of his face. Staring at her so intently she couldn’t look away, staring into the depths of the one thing that had always eluded him. “My God.” He breathed, resting his forehead against hers. “They’re green.” His words brought fresh tears to her eyes. He smiled, shaking his head as he wiped them away, and kissed her again. He would have continued, too, if not for another bout of resounding cheers from his people.

“You’ll have me, Gwendolyn,” Greylen demanded.

“Have you? Greylen,” she whispered, looking down, “you’re stuck with me.”

Greylen shook his head and lifted her chin. “I’d give everything I have to be stuck with you.”

“Really?”

“Aye.” He nodded. “Really.” He pulled her into his arms again and squeezed her as she sighed. “God, how I missed you, Gwen.”

“I missed you too.” She smiled and squeezed him back.

He stood with her but did not release her. She continued to lean against him, her question muffled against his chest. “Did you get my message, Greylen?”

His joy was so great, he laughed. “Which one?” he asked.

“I only wrote one letter, Greylen.” Her tone and expression lay somewhere between perplexed and annoyed.

“Aye.” He grinned. “One letter, riddled with messages.”

“I wouldn’t say it was riddled,” she denied.

“You’d not?” he argued.

“I’d not,” she denied again and placed her hands on her hips.

He took a menacing step toward her and leaned down, purposely crowding her space. “Say you we start with the one I think of most importance,” he challenged in a voice thick with victory.

She didn’t retreat but couldn’t seem to stop herself from fetchingly biting her lip. “Which one would that be?” she asked imploringly, as if begging him to get it right.

Greylen stared her down. He wanted to throttle her. Which one would that be? “You left me,” he barked.

He would have sworn she’d feel victorious that he understood; however, she put a finger on her chin to feign a memory lapse. “Really, did I write that?”