*
She dreamed of him constantly. Holding her hand in the dining hall while her sister prattled endlessly about the newest gowns she’d commissioned. Gazing at her lovingly across the throne room while the thaumaturges droned on about outdated policies that Channary would never bother to understand or improve. And every night he crawled into bed with her, wrapped her up in his muscular arms, breathed warm kisses against her neck.
A figment of him was with her when she woke up each morning.
A shadow of him followed her down every corridor.
Every time she caught sight of a guard’s uniform from the corner of her eye, her heart ricocheted and her head twisted to see if it was him—though more often than not it was only her own stupid guards following respectfully in the distance.
Three days passed and his official time of mourning ended, but she did not see him.
Then a week.
It occurred to her that he may have taken leave from the palace to deal with his wife’s death and spend time with his infant daughter, and she tried to be patient. To give him space and time. To wait until he came to her—because surely he would. Surely he missed her as much as she missed him.
She imagined him in his bed at night, all alone and dreaming about her in his arms.
She imagined him coming to her bedchambers, falling to his knees as he confessed how much he adored her, how he couldn’t live another moment without knowing the taste of her lips.
She imagined them a happy family, her and Evret and the baby girl, playing make-believe together in the palace nurseries. She daydreamed about the plump little child crawling into her lap and falling asleep in her arms. She envisioned Evret’s soft gaze upon them, knowing that his family was complete.
That they were meant to be together.
That she was the love of his life.
Another week passed, and still she had no word from him, not seen him at all. With every day, her yearning grew and grew.
Then, after an entire long day had come and gone, her fantasy came true.
A knock sounded at the door to her private chambers, and Sir Evret Hayle was announced.
Levana scampered out of the nook where she’d been watching a documentary about Luna’s early colonization, shutting down the holograph node at the same time that she called up the glamour of the pale, invisible girl.
“Evret!” she cried, her heart thumping against her sternum.
He stepped back, startled, perhaps at her exuberance or the familiarity with which she used his name. He was holding a bundle of black-and-gold fabric in his arms.
Her two personal guards stood to either side of him, lacking any expression, as notable as statues.
“Your Highness,” Evret said, bowing.
“Please, come in. It’s—I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been thinking about you. Here, I’ll call for some tea.”
His brow was tense. He did not step past her threshold. “Thank you for your hospitality, Your Highness, but I’m to report for my return to active duty this afternoon. I only wanted to bring you this.”
She hesitated. Return to active duty? So he had been on leave. She thought it might be a relief—part of her had been worried he might be intentionally avoiding her—and yet it was also irksome to think that he needed two entire weeks to mourn his wife, to attach to his daughter.
“Don’t be silly,” she said, pushing the door open more fully. “I will ensure that your tardiness is excused. Come in, just for a minute, please. I’ve mi—I’ve been worried about you. Wondering how you were.”
Still he hesitated, glancing down at the fabric.
“Sir Hayle. Don’t make me issue it as a command.” She laughed, but his jaw only clenched in response. He did, however, step inside. His eyes darted around her chambers like he’d just entered a cage. She shut the door behind him.
Her palms were growing damp, her pulse humming. “Come in. Sit down. I didn’t realize you were on leave. Though I’d been wondering…” She drifted into the parlor, and found that her legs were trembling by the time she lowered herself onto the cushioned divan. Evret did not come closer. Did not sit down.
She pretended not to notice his anxiety, but she did notice.
It made her own nervousness increase, memories of a thousand fantasies crushing down on her. Fantasies that had begun so much like this, only now it was real. He was here.
“Speak, Evret. Tell me what’s become of you since we last saw each other.”
He pulled himself up, like bracing himself for a blow. His expression became stoic and professional, his gaze latching on the painting over Levana’s shoulder.
“I was grateful to be given this time to make arrangements for my deceased wife, as I know you’re aware, Your Highness, and also dealing with the effects of her business.” His voice started to break, but he recovered smoothly. “I’ve spent this past week clearing her needlework shop and auctioning off what assets I could.”
Levana’s mouth pursed in a surprised O. She hadn’t considered what might need to be done when someone died. After her parents’ death, the thaumaturges and servants had dealt with everything.
“I … am sorry,” she stammered, thinking it might be an appropriate thing to say. “I know you’ve been through a lot.”
He nodded, as if to accept her compassion.
“And how is the child?”
“She is well, Your Highness, thank you.” He sucked in a breath and held out the bundle in his arms. “I want you to have this.”
“Thank you, Evret. What is it?”
Levana hoped that, by not moving from her spot on the divan, it would compel Evret to come closer. To sit beside her. To finally look her in the eyes.
Instead, he unfolded the fabric and spread it out, revealing the elaborate quilt of Earth that Solstice had made, half of it pooling past his feet.
Levana gasped. It was every bit as striking as she remembered—even more so when surrounded by the luxuriousness of her royal chambers.
“Sol made it,” Evret said, his voice heavy, “but I think you know that already.”
Levana scanned the shimmering, patched-together pieces of Earth, up and up, until she was looking at Evret again. “It’s magnificent. But why are you giving it to me?”