I did, breathless instantly. Even though he kept it gentle—sweet—it was no less intoxicating. Leaving me dazed, the legion commander tore off his leathered training gear and said on his way to the bathing room, “Let me get cleaned up. I want to take you somewhere.”

Assuming this place had something to do with food, I waited impatiently upon the bed, but I would soon find my hopes crushed and replaced with something unexpected.

Something a little bit like love.

For along the river heading north toward the royal Keep sat a patch of dense forest. Within the forest, not a mile from the riverside path trailing to the city we’d left behind, a small cottage greeted us.

A butter-stone chimney winked beneath the sun through the trees.

My chest filled with elated warmth, a nostalgic tug for what had been a different lifetime ago. I didn’t wait. I walked closer to take in its ivy-coated entirety. Leaves encircled the chimney and drainpipes, and vines climbed over and around the arched windows.

The red-painted door was faded. The gardens were overgrown and in need of weeding. The cobblestone path that began between two shabby topiary trees was cracked and slippery with moss.

And all of it was the best form of medicine I never would have thought I’d need.

An assortment of birds sipped from the algae-covered birdbath that stood forgotten within the gardens.

Although quiet enough that I hadn’t heard his approach, I still knew Scythe stood behind me. “This is…”

“Go on in,” he urged gently when I failed to find words, my fingers clenching my skirts.

Inside, bookshelves made from branches and uneven slabs of wood lined half of the large circular room between the three arched windows. Roses, crimson with emerald leaves, stained their glass. The kitchen nook awaited next to the door, the backsplash and counter tiles a patterned mixture of creamy lavender and blue.

Fresh fruit gleamed in the wooden bowl upon the tilted top of a round dining table. He’d been here earlier. Which was confirmed by the half-set table and the pan upon the stove. Whatever this magical place was, it was his. His scent smothered as if cemented between the cracks in every stone.

I looked back to the shelves, blurting, “More books.”

“Haven’t read them all yet.”

“How would you have the time, being gone for days on end for your king…” Staring at the novels, I felt my heart pinch, remembering some of the names scrawled upon the title pages inside others I’d flicked through back in his apartment. “They aren’t yours.”

My observation and accusation invited silence.

When Scythe finally spoke, his tone remained even and matter-of-fact. “Some of my brethren seek jewels and other valuables on raids. I take the books and the booze.” He moved to the sink with a casual agility that drew my eyes, seemingly without a care for what he’d done.