“I shall also talk with Maddie. Half an hour? On the front steps?” Apollo suggested.

“I’ll call for our horses to be brought ’round,” Tor offered.

Apollo nodded.

They both stood, said their goodbyes to Alfie and left the room.

When the door closed behind them, Alfie looked down to his sticks that were resting on the floor by his chair, hidden from view.

He had been practicing on them as frequently as he could. However, he was finding to his frustration that his lower half was heavy and unwieldy, which made progress slow-going and tiring, so that frequency wasn’t as frequent as he’d wish.

He could navigate across a room.

He could not get himself from True’s study to his chambers without resting in chairs placed along the hall the entire way, this being done for the purpose of allowing him just that.

And stairs were impossible.

But navigating that hallway, under the carefully averted eyes of soldiers he once commanded, was a mortifying enough daily occurrence.

He couldn’t even think on attempting stairs.

He closed his eyes, lifted his hand, and pinched the bridge of his nose just as he heard a knock on the door.

He dropped his hand and opened his mouth but closed it when he heard the latch turning and knew who it was.

He sighed and ignored his stomach warming.

This before who he knew would walk in without waiting for him to call his leave for her to do so, walked in.

Bronagh.

She closed the door behind her and bustled his way, asking, “Is your meeting done?”

Gods, she had far too many curves.

And too much hair.

And those bloody freckles.

“Alfie?” she called, and he started, lifting his eyes from her bosoms to her face.

Her cheeks were pink, but her manner was efficient.

He had, after insulting her gravely, managed to force her to listen to his apology, which she had accepted.

He had then managed to talk her into considering him as friend, which was harder to make her accept.

It was also hard for him to accept.

That said, all he had to do was look at his bloody sticks, his fucking useless legs, and it became a good deal easier.

“Is your meeting done?” she repeated.

“Yes, but I’m waiting on some missives I need to look over,” he told her.

She appeared crestfallen, which was a rather dramatic reaction to his reply.

What on earth?

“I’m uncomfortable in True’s chair, Bronagh,” he reminded her of something he’d shared before in one of their many conversations, for she kept him company in his chambers often, now no longer simply as his nurse. “But I’ve spent so much time in that damned chamber, that damned bed, I’d rather be here than there. If you wish to stay and keep me company, get your book or your knitting, and be here with me.”