Chapter 53: Well-Fed Hostage

By the time Vervath finally stopped running, the forest edge behind House Moons looked as though a particularly stubborn storm had passed through it.

Leaves clung to his wolf pelt, burrs had embedded themselves in the fur around one shoulder, and a smear of dirt crossed his cheek where Valdor had introduced him to the ground with considerably more enthusiasm than courtesy. One side of his ribs would undoubtedly bruise by evening, and his left thigh already ached from a sweep that had sent him rolling beneath a low branch. None of the injuries were serious, but Vervath had accumulated enough indignity to complain about them for several weeks. Valdor, by contrast, looked almost untouched.

His breathing had deepened, and a faint sheen of sweat darkened the skin along his temples, but his posture remained steady. The lavender ribbon braided beside his face had survived every movement, protected within the dark strands exactly as Amor intended. Valdor had fought around it with almost absurd awareness, turning his head away from branches and redirecting Vervath twice rather than allow the delicate silk to brush bark. Vervath sat upon a fallen log.

"[This was not a spar.]"

Valdor stood several paces away.

"[You accepted it.]"

"[I requested forgiveness through honorable battle!]"

"[You ran.]"

"[Ack! N-no... I repositioned!]"

"[You hid behind a tree.]"

"[Terrain exists to be used. Have I taught you nothing, boy?]"

Valdor looked toward the broken branch at Vervath’s feet. The chieftain followed his gaze.

"[...That tree betrayed me.]"

Valdor said nothing. Vervath’s humor lingered for another moment before slowly fading. The forest around them had grown quiet again, disturbed birds settling farther away while the estate remained visible through the thinning line of trees. Afternoon light filtered through green leaves in broken patches, catching the bruises forming beneath Vervath’s skin and the pale dust still lingering in the edges of Valdor’s braids from his overnight carving. Vervath rubbed one hand over his face.

"[Alright. I deserved some of that...]"

Valdor’s expression remained still.

"[Not the window, though...]"

A pause.

"[Okay, most of the window.]"

Vervath amended. Valdor folded his arms. His father sighed. The joking had carried him through embarrassment, pain, and guilt because Vervath had always preferred laughter to sitting still inside an emotion that might demand vulnerability. Sarka had known that habit well enough to corner him whenever it became cowardice. Valdor, unfortunately, had inherited enough of her patience to wait until the humor exhausted itself.

"[I did not understand...]"

Vervath admitted. Valdor’s gaze sharpened slightly.

"[About the ribbon.]"

The younger warrior looked away. Vervath continued before silence could become another wall.

"[I understood that Amor gave it to you. I understood it meant permission to continue courtship. I did not understand what the first accepted token meant to you.]"

Valdor touched nothing, but his attention shifted toward the braid containing the repaired silk.

"[It was not valuable because it was silk.]"

He said.

"[Mm. I know that now.]"

"[He chose it...]"

Vervath waited. Valdor’s voice remained sparse, forcing every word to carry more weight.

"[He removed it from himself. Gave it to me. Told me I was welcomed...]"

The chieftain’s expression softened.

"[That is why—]"

"[Mm, I know.]"

"[No!]"

Valdor looked toward him again.

"[You know after.]"

The distinction struck cleanly. Vervath lowered his head.

"[Yeah... you’re right. Haah...]"

He picked a leaf from his pelt and rolled it between thick fingers.

"[When Sarka first accepted my courtship, she gave me a cord from her hunting bracer...]"

Valdor had never heard the story. His attention changed immediately.

"[It was ugly...]"

Vervath said. Valdor frowned.

"[She had worn it for three winters. The leather had cracked, the dye had faded, and one end smelled permanently like smoked elk.]"

"[That sounds useful.]"

"[It was damn precious. My most treasured item...]"

The correction softened his voice. Vervath looked toward his ribs, and his hand drifted there unconsciously, pressing over the place where Sarka’s marriage mark rested beneath clothing and scarred skin.

"[One of my brothers saw me wearing it around my wrist and decided I had become sentimental. He grabbed it during wrestling and tore it...]"

Valdor’s eyes darkened.

"[I broke his hand.]"

"[That seems fair.]"

"[I broke it twice.]"

Valdor considered.

"[Still fair.]"

Vervath almost laughed. Then Sarka’s memory sobered him.

"[She refused to speak to me for four days.]"

"[Because you fought him?]"

"[Because I nearly killed him!]"

Valdor’s expression flattened. Vervath waved one hand.

"[Okay, nearly is exaggerated. She used dramatic language when angry.]"

"[You broke his hand twice.]"

"[He has another hand!]"

Valdor stared. Vervath cleared his throat.

"[Ahem—The point is that I remembered my own rage, not the hurt beneath it. Somewhere over the years, the story became something funny I told around fires. I forgot what it felt like to see the first thing Sarka gave me torn apart in another person’s hands...]"

His thumb pressed harder against his ribs.

"[Then I did the same to you...]"

Valdor’s shoulders loosened by the smallest amount. Vervath noticed.

"[I am truly, very sorry, son. My boy, I would never do something to hurt you on purpose. You have to know this.]"

This apology sounded different from the one offered inside. No rush to repair discomfort. No joke waiting behind it. Only acknowledgment of his own mistake. Valdor looked toward his father for a long moment.

"[I know you did not mean to tear it...]"

Vervath nodded.

"[I was still angry.]"

"[I could tell! Valdor, you are allowed to have your feelings. Especially when you are hurting like right now. Look at me, sounding like your mom. I must be getting old.]"

Another pause. Valdor finally said.

"[...I forgive you.]"

Vervath’s shoulders dropped. The relief was immediate and visible. He resisted the urge to crush his son into a hug, largely because Valdor’s expression suggested forgiveness did not extend to renewed physical interference. Instead, he leaned back against the tree trunk and released a slow breath.

"[You know what? I want to make you something...]"

Valdor glanced toward him.

"[For the ribbon.]"

"[No.]"

"[Listen first, damn it!]"

Valdor waited.

"[A small clasp...]"

Vervath explained.

"[Bone or horn. Something light enough to secure the braid above the silk so the ribbon does not loosen during training. Not something to cover up the token. It’s protection for the one Amor gave.]"

Valdor looked thoughtful.

"[You will not touch the ribbon.]"

"[Trust me, agh—I have learned my lesson. Ouch—!]"

"[You give me the clasp.]"

"[Yes.]"

"[I attach it.]"

"[Yes. Yes. I will hand the clasp to you. You will be the only one touching your hair, Peaks have mercy.]"

Valdor nodded. Vervath smiled. Then Valdor remembered another matter.

"[Aunt Samara.]"

The smile disappeared. Vervath looked toward the manor.

"[Oh! Would you look at that! The sun is moving quite fast after our sparring.]"

Valdor’s eyes narrowed.

"[You said you would explain.]"

"[I said later.]"

"[It is later.]"

"[Not enough later! You must wash first.]"

Valdor stepped closer. Vervath, who had just been thrown from a third-story window and pursued through woodland, somehow looked more alarmed by the conversation than by the spar.

"[L-look-look at you! Do you really want to keep talking here when you should be rushing back to your Little Wife and learning their noose-ants flower language?]"

"[...I can wash after.]"

"[You promised Amor study lessons. Are you really willing to stay here, chatting it up with your old man when your to-be wife is waiting for your return?]"

Valdor stopped. Vervath saw salvation.

"[You-you’re covered in dust, sweat, and everything else the forest has to offer...]"

He continued quickly.

"[You cannot appear before your new suitor smelling like an irritated boar.]"

Valdor looked down at himself. A few leaves clung near his shoulder. One knuckle had bruised slightly. His furs were dirty. Vervath watched his son’s expression become distant and quietly celebrated. Surely he had succeeded.

Valdor would realize that questioning royal family history could wait while Amor sat upstairs with books, probably expecting him. The boy had always become surprisingly single-minded once given a task involving the Moons heir.

Valdor remained silent for several seconds. Vervath mistook the silence for internal conflict. In reality, Valdor was deciding how to wear his hair after washing.

’Loose would expose the lavender ribbon more clearly. Tied back would keep it safe during study. Perhaps tied at the crown while leaving the front braid visible. Would Amor prefer—’

Valdor turned abruptly.

"[I will wash...]"

Vervath exhaled.

"[And bring snacks.]"

"[Yes, yes. Good. Wait? Snacks?... What kind of snacks do you intend to bring?]"

"[Cookies.]"

"[Excellent! Save a portion for me, okay! Leave them by my mat; I’m just... gonna hang out here for a few more minutes. Not because I’m tired! I just... miss the forest.]"

Valdor began walking toward the manor. Vervath leaned against the tree with immense relief.

Perhaps Amor truly could serve as a reliable distraction in future situations involving uncomfortable family revelations. A well-timed mention of his little son-in-law-to-be might save Vervath from several conversations he had successfully avoided for twenty-five years. Valdor called back without turning.

"[Tonight, we discuss Aunt Samara.]"

Vervath’s face fell. The younger warrior continued toward the house. Vervath remained beneath the trees, bruised, leaf-covered, and suddenly troubled by the evening ahead.

"[So much for courtship being useful. Haah...]"

---

Valdor returned to Amor later than promised. He had washed quickly but thoroughly, changing into fresh furs and cleaning the dirt from his skin. His hair had been retied, most of it drawn back from his face while the front braid containing Amor’s lavender ribbon remained deliberately visible. The repaired seam rested safely between black strands, and the silk had survived bathing because Valdor had washed around it with an amount of care bordering on ritual. He carried into the bedroom a small pouch of cookies.

Amor noticed those second. First, he noticed the bruise across one knuckle. Then the faint scratch near Valdor’s shoulder. Then the small green leaf caught behind one braid. Amor slowly lowered the book he had been reading.

"Where is your father?"

Valdor closed the door behind him.

"Outside."

"That answer is suspicious. Please tell me he is at least okay."

"He is alive."

Amor stared.

"I did not ask whether he was alive."

Valdor considered.

"No."

Amor set the book aside.

"Should I have?"

"Yes."

The corners of Amor’s mouth twitched.

"Do you mind if I asked what had happened during your spar?"

"We resolved it."

"That phrase could mean anything from a conversation to burying a body."

"Con-versation..."

Amor looked toward the bruised knuckle.

"And sparring."

"Ah."

Valdor approached the bed. Amor’s ankle remained settled within the carved support, while a small mountain of books Lanslet and Elsie had delivered occupied the bedside table. Dictionaries, diplomatic guides, alphabet primers, histories, and several old treaty-language manuals created enough educational material to occupy Amor well beyond his week of grounding. Amor looked again toward Valdor.

"Your father is truly fine?"

"Yes."

"Completely?"

"Bruised."

"Okay. Is he still conscious?"

"Yes."

"Is he able to walk fine?"

Valdor paused.

"He ran."

Amor laughed. The sound escaped before he could restrain it. Valdor’s eyes warmed.

"I am glad you defended the ribbon..."

Amor said once the laughter eased.

"But do not take the accident too deeply to heart. There will be plenty of tokens in the future."

Valdor became still. Amor realized what he had said.

"Plenty."

"In the future."

Color entered Valdor’s ears. Amor’s own cheeks followed. Neither commented. Amor reached toward the leaf caught in his braid. Valdor immediately lowered himself. The movement was so automatic that Amor’s heart softened. He leaned closer and plucked the small leaf from the black hair, fingertips briefly brushing the braid where the repaired lavender ribbon rested. Valdor remained perfectly still beneath the touch.

"There. Perfect."

He showed him the leaf. Valdor nodded. Amor looked at his obedient posture and nearly melted. For someone capable of sparring with a chieftain and coming back with barely a scratch, Valdor could occasionally resemble an enormous, solemn hound waiting patiently for praise. The contrast was unfairly endearing. Amor had to look away before the thought showed too clearly upon his face. That was when he remembered the cookies. His gaze snapped toward the bundle in Valdor’s hand.

"Ahem—I see you brough snacks with you. What kind are they?"

"Sugar and spice cookies..."

Amor reached. Valdor placed one hand gently over his.

"For after study."

Amor stared at the hand stopping him. Then at the cookies. Then at Valdor.

"You brought them here."

"Yes."

"For me?"

"Yes."

"And now you are withholding them."

"Reward."

"I do not require bribery to learn, I am not a child..."

Valdor moved the cookies farther away. Amor’s expression tightened.

"I merely learn better with sugar."

"Then learn quickly."

The audacity stunned him. Valdor placed the bundle upon the far table. Amor pouted. The warrior sat beside him.

"Humph! You are becoming dangerously confident."

"You allow it."

"That permission can be revoked!"

Valdor nodded toward the books.

"Study first."

Amor glared for another second. Then he opened the largest diplomatic guide with dramatic displeasure.

The volume had been published twelve years earlier by the Royal Academy of Language and Treaty Studies, though judging from Valdor’s expression after reading the first page, twelve years had not improved the kingdom’s understanding very much. The guide presented Blackstone phrases beside common-language translations, complete with pronunciation marks created by some scholar who had clearly learned the language through other scholars. Amor pointed toward the first greeting.

"Kar veth amal tor."

Valdor looked at him. Amor repeated it more carefully.

"It says this means ’honored guest of our house.’"

Valdor’s mouth twitched. Amor narrowed his eyes.

"What?"

"Say it again."

He did. The twitch became a visible almost-smile.

"What does it actually mean?"

Valdor looked toward the page.

"Well-fed hostage."

Amor stared.

"No."

"Yes."

He looked back at the book.

"The Royal Academy printed ’honored guest.’"

"It says hostage."

"Why well-fed?"

"Amal. Fed until satisfied."

"And tor?"

"Held."

Amor covered his mouth. Then laughter overtook him. He sank deeper into the chaise, shoulders shaking while Valdor watched with quiet amusement. The idea that generations of diplomats might have ceremoniously welcomed Blackstone envoys as well-fed hostages became increasingly impossible to survive with dignity.

"Wait, how long has this phrase been used?"

"Kingdom people say it often. Maybe since talks first started?"

"And no one corrected them?"

Valdor’s eyes warmed.

"It is funny."

Amor laughed harder.

"You let them keep saying it?"

"Yes."

"That is terrible! Oh my god, this is hilarious and also so embarrassing!"

"Blackstone enjoy it."

Amor wiped the corner of one eye.

"I am beginning to understand why negotiations take so long."

He flipped through several pages. Another phrase supposedly meaning peaceful companion actually translated closer to person permitted near the knives. A formal toast celebrating mutual prosperity used a word Blackstone normally reserved for fattening livestock before winter. One highly ceremonial phrase thanking a host for hospitality apparently meant your roof did not fall upon us. Amor became delighted.

"Haah, this book is completely useless. I’m going to have to tell Father about this mess."

"Mm, mostly useless."

"I was hoping to actually learn a little from the books when your not here but... No, it just won’t do. What I want is actual Blackstone lessons..."

Valdor nodded.

"Yes."

"None if these court phrases, diplomatic nonsense and definately no well-fed hostages unless someone is actually being held and fed."

Valdor considered.

"It is still useful."

Amor pointed the book at him. The warrior’s slight smile returned. Valdor reached for a blank sheet of paper. He wrote the first word using the angular Blackstone script.

"Hara."

Amor leaned closer.

"Mm and what is it’s meaning?"

"Home."

He copied it carefully. Valdor wrote another.

"Seth. Safe."

Another.

"Kava. Food."

Amor smiled.

"Great, this one will be very important."

"Yes."

Another.

"Ruun. Rest."

Amor’s attention shifted toward the ankle support. Valdor noticed but continued.

"Vara. Return."

That word Amor remembered. He wrote it more carefully than the others. Then Valdor added one more symbol.

"Eshar."

Amor studied the familiar shape.

"Oh, wait! I think I know this one. It was in one of those trash books... Choose?"

Valdor nodded.

"Does it only choose? I think it was used in another way in a different book."

The warrior paused.

"No..."

Amor looked toward him. Valdor searched for enough common words to explain something Blackstone understood more through use than definition.

"Kingdom choose can happen once."

"Yes."

"Eshar is... choosing again..."

Amor’s expression softened. Valdor continued.

"A decision proven by action. Today. Tomorrow. Again."

"So like, renewed. To have it happen over and over again."

Valdor considered the word.

"Yes."

Amor looked down at the symbol. The concept struck deeper than expected. Blackstone did not reduce choosing to one declaration preserved forever regardless of what followed. The word required repetition. Someone was chosen because actions continued showing that choice.

"Can it stop?"

"Yes."

"Then it becomes something else?"

"It becomes ended. Ficsha"

Simple and unromantic in phrasing but profound in meaning. Amor traced the symbol without touching the ink. He understood why the word mattered to Valdor. Vervath’s lesson about being chosen again and again had found language older than either man. A courtship did not become secure because Amor said yes once. It remained alive through repeated eshar. Choosing.

"Teach me a phrase..."

Valdor waited. Amor looked toward the repaired ribbon. Then the hidden words beneath his ankle support.

"How do I say, ’You may return’?"

Valdor became completely still. The change was immediate enough that Amor noticed.

"What’s wrong? Is that too difficult?"

"No."

"Then why are you making that face?"

Valdor looked toward the page.

"In Blackstone, it means more."

Amor’s curiosity sharpened.

"How much more?"

Valdor’s fingers rested beside the written word for home.

"It... can be said to guests."

"Uh? Well, that sounds ordinary enough."

"...Not the way you asked..."

Amor waited. Valdor spoke carefully.

"To tell someone you may return can mean there is a place for them again."

"In the house, right?"

"...Yes."

"But... not only the house I’m guessing by your reaction?"

Valdor looked at him.

"...No."

Understanding slowly entered Amor’s expression.

"So like... around a family fire?"

"Yes."

"Can... it mean... in a person’s life?"

"...Yes."

The room quieted. Valdor did not teach the phrase immediately. That restraint mattered.

"You do not need to say it..."

He explained.

"Not without meaning it."

Amor stared at the page. The old Lovell instinct might once have retreated from anything that sounded binding. A place inside someone’s personal life could become a trap if spoken carelessly. Yet Valdor had warned him before allowing the phrase to pass his lips. It was his choice again. It had always been his choice.

"I want to learn it."

Valdor’s eyes softened. He wrote the phrase.

"Sa vara en."

Amor repeated it.

"Sa vah-ra en..."

Valdor’s mouth twitched.

"Was that wrong?"

"Yes."

"You smiled. You smiled at my failure!"

"No."

"You absolutely smiled! Humph! Watch, I’ll get it next time!"

Valdor looked toward the paper. Amor tried again.

"Sa vara en."

The accent remained soft and overly elegant, vowels stretched by kingdom speech into something gentler than Blackstone pronunciation. Valdor found it unbearably cute. He corrected the middle sound twice, though part of him almost preferred the imperfect version.

"Harder here..."

He said. Amor repeated it.

"Mm. Better."

"Your language feels as if half the words require threatening the air."

"Kingdom speech sounds like singing to flowers."

"That is rich coming from someone with your accent."

Valdor looked toward him.

"My ack-cent?"

Amor froze slightly.

"Well, yes. Accent, how you sound when you speak."

"...How does it sound?"

The question seemed innocent. Amor did not hear it innocently. His mind immediately returned to Valdor speaking in that deep, rough cadence, common words shaped by Blackstone rhythm until even simple statements sounded intimate. He remembered you were sleeping, I will return, you reached first. The accent did things to perfectly ordinary sentences that Amor considered deeply unfair. His face warmed. Valdor watched.

"Do you dislike it?"

"No!"

"Then?"

Amor lifted the language book in front of his lower face, substituting it for the fan. Valdor’s brows rose. Amor’s ears turned pink.

"I...I find it...e-extremely attractive..."

The warrior became still. Amor wished the book were larger.

"You-you shouldn’t change it..."

He added quickly.

"Only learn more words and their meaning. That is enough."

Valdor’s ears darkened. He nodded. Then another thought entered him. Amor had said his hands were attractive. His body too. Now his accent. Valdor looked at the book hiding most of Amor’s face.

"Is there something you find unattractive?"

The book rose higher.

"Wha-ah-umm! Oh, look! We wasted so much time. Tell me again how to make that middle sound..."

Valdor’s slight smile became unmistakable. Amor’s blush spread.

"I said teach me, dummy."

"Yes."

"You are laughing at me!"

"No."

"Yes, you are! I see you smiling!"

"Yes."

Amor glared from behind the book. Valdor allowed the escape, though curiosity remained. Someday, he would ask again. They returned to the phrase.

"Sa vara en."

Valdor said. Amor listened carefully. The next attempt came closer. Valdor leaned toward him to correct the final consonant, one finger pointing near the text rather than touching Amor unnecessarily. The movement brought the lavender ribbon into clearer view beside his face, woven through black hair and repaired where damage had once split it. Amor looked at the ribbon. Then at Valdor.

"Sa vara en."

Perfect.

Valdor’s expression changed. The common-language translation had affected him when Amor spoke it before. Hearing the Blackstone words struck somewhere deeper.

The phrase carried home, hearth, permission, and personal return within it. Amor had learned the meaning first and spoken anyway. Not accidentally or due to ignorance. It was his choice. Valdor’s heartbeat quickened. Amor noticed the softness in his eyes and became shy all over again.

"Was...was that correct?"

"Yes."

"Completely correct? You’re not just saying that, right?"

"Yes."

He looked pleased with himself. Valdor looked toward the cookies. Amor immediately followed his gaze.

"And my reward?"

Valdor handed him one. Amor accepted it triumphantly. The sugar and spice cookie was crisp around the edge and soft in the center, carrying enough sweetness to improve scholarship considerably. He ate half before returning to the page, though his attention remained less upon the letters now and more upon the phrase he had just learned. They studied until the afternoon light began changing.

Amor repeated each word until Valdor approved the pronunciation, occasionally earning another cookie after a successful set. By the end, the bundle had diminished considerably, and Amor had begun accusing Valdor of inventing pronunciation errors merely to regulate his sugar intake.

Eventually, the books closed. Amor leaned back against the chaise, ankle still resting inside the carved support. Valdor gathered the loose papers. The room became quiet again. Amor looked toward him. Softly, almost as though testing the words inside himself rather than speaking them for an audience, he repeated.

"Sa vara en."

You may return.

Valdor stopped gathering pages. His hand rested beside the repaired lavender ribbon in his braid. He answered with one word.

"Allar..."

Amor tilted his head.

"I will."

Valdor translated. It did not mean forever, marriage, or ownership. Only a promise for today, ready to stop whenever he chose to. Amor smiled. The ribbon remained repaired. The hidden carving remained beneath his foot. And now the promise existed between them in Valdor’s own language.

"You may return."

"I will."

Once Amor had successfully mangled several Blackstone phrases, earned his sugar and spice cookies, and coaxed the increasingly not-so-rare visible smile from Valdor, he decided it was only fair to reverse the lesson.

"Since you’ve taught me your language..."

He said, reaching for one of the common-language primers Lanslet had ordered brought from the estate library.

"Now I will teach you mine properly, so the next merchant who tries to charge you twice the correct price leaves with nothing but shame."

Valdor looked toward the book.

"I know prices."

"That is not the same as knowing the language."

"I know insults."

"That is even less encouraging and frankly not that helpful when having a normal conversation."

Valdor considered the distinction, then nodded. Amor opened the primer with more confidence than he deserved. His first mistake became apparent almost immediately.

The common language of the kingdom had never felt difficult to him because Amor Moons had known it since childhood, and when Lovell awakened inside this body, that knowledge came with everything else:

Pronunciation, grammar, reading, handwriting, noble etiquette, and the subtle meanings hidden beneath certain forms of address. He had inherited fluency rather than learned it, which meant the moment Valdor asked why one group of letters sounded differently in two nearly identical words, Amor discovered he had absolutely no idea.

He stared at the page. Valdor waited. Amor pointed toward the first word.

"This says through."

"Throw..."

Valdor repeated it accurately enough.

"And this? It is also though."

"Yes."

Valdor looked between them.

"Why?"

Amor’s finger remained suspended above the paper.

"Uh... Why what?"

"Why is the end written the same but spoken differently?"

Amor looked at the words again, as though sufficient outrage might force the book to explain itself.

"Because..."

Valdor waited.

"That is how they are pronounced."

"Why?"

Amor’s confidence cracked.

"Because the language developed that way."

"How?"

"I...I...I do not know..."

Valdor blinked. Amor’s cheeks warmed. He flipped the page.

"That is an unnecessarily advanced question for the beginning of a lesson! Let’s go back to the basics!"

"It was the first page."

"We are moving on!"

Valdor nodded obediently. Amor found another example.

"This is knight."

Valdor studied the spelling.

"K-night."

"No. Knight. You don’t pronounce the k."

"The first sound is gone."

"Yes."

"Why write it?"

Amor’s eye twitched.

"Uh...um...well, it’s tradition."

"Why?"

"Valdor."

The warrior became quiet. Amor closed his eyes briefly. Teaching, he discovered, was much harder when the student possessed enough intelligence to notice that half the language appeared designed by people who despised consistency. He tried grammar next.

That went worse.

"If you are speaking about something happening now, you say, ’I am walking.’"

Valdor nodded.

"I am walking."

"Mm, good. If it already happened, ’I walked.’"

"I walked."

"And if it will happen, ’I will walk.’"

"I will walk."

Amor brightened.

"Exactly! You’re already a natural."

Valdor looked toward another sentence in the primer.

"Why does this say, ’I have walked’?"

Amor’s smile disappeared.

"That is... different."

"Why?"

"It describes something completed with relevance to the present."

Valdor stared. Amor heard his own explanation and immediately disliked it.

"Relevance how?"

"Ah—um... It depends?"

"On what?"

"I guess the sentence? It’s not going to work with every action but...um...it just works?"

Valdor looked toward the book. Then at Amor. Amor felt personally betrayed by the entire kingdom.

"Do Blackstone verbs do this?"

"No."

"Haah, of course they do not..."

Valdor’s mouth twitched. Amor pointed at him.

"Do not enjoy my suffering."

"I am learning."

"You are enjoying my suffering while learning! That is worse."

"Yes."

The admission made Amor huff. Still, Valdor progressed with irritating ease. Every sound Amor demonstrated, Valdor repeated after one or two attempts. Every vocabulary word remained somewhere inside his mind once heard. Even when Amor later realized he had corrected a pronunciation incorrectly and tried to repair it, Valdor simply adjusted without confusion.

"Wait..."

Amor said after the fourth such incident. Valdor looked up.

"I told you that word wrong ten minutes ago."

"Yes."

"And now you are saying it correctly."

"You corrected it."

"But you remembered both?"

"Yes."

Amor narrowed his eyes.

"...How?"

Valdor seemed confused by the question.

"I hear things."

"That is not an explanation."

"I remember them."

"That is also not an explanation!"

Valdor thought for a moment.

"I am good at hearing and remembering."

Amor slowly lowered the primer.

"How good?"

"Very."

"Then why does Vervath keep saying your common language is poor?"

Valdor’s gaze moved toward the page. The answer took longer. Amor noticed.

"I know much of it..."

Valdor admitted.

"Not all."

"How much? If we are going to continue these lessons, I’d rather understand where your starting point is. That way we don’t waste time on things you already know."

"...I know enough to understand most people..."

Amor stared at him. Valdor continued, more reluctantly now.

"I listened."

"To the lessons when you were a kid?"

"No."

That answer was unsurprising.

"To people."

Something about the way he said it changed Amor’s expression.

"People saying what?"

Valdor’s fingers rested upon the edge of the book.

"Words they thought I did not understand..."

Amor became very still. Valdor’s voice remained calm, but the simplicity did nothing to soften the meaning.

"Mostly curses. Names for Blackstone. Comments about smell. Clothing. Intelligence. About being animals..."

The warmth left Amor’s face. Valdor continued because hiding it now would serve no purpose.

"Some nobles speak slowly to me. Others speak normally when they think I cannot understand. I learned from both."

Amor’s fingers tightened around his book.

"That is how you learned?"

"Partly."

"By listening to people insult you?"

"And merchants."

"Merchants insulted you too?"

"They cheat first..."

Valdor said it as though describing weather. That made Amor angrier.

"But I still do not know many ordinary words..."

Valdor added.

"Household things. Court phrases. Books."

Amor stared at him for several seconds. Then a completely inappropriate thought entered his mind. Valdor was absurdly suited to being the male lead of a novel. Much more than Alphonsins, if Amor were being brutally fair. He had the tragic background. The misunderstood foreign culture. The hidden royal connection. The intimidating reputation masking an almost unreasonable capacity for tenderness.

He could fight, hunt, cook, carve, build, make medicine, survive brutal conditions, remember languages simply by hearing them, and apparently endure years of aristocratic insults without reducing the capital to rubble. He was handsome in a rugged, dangerous way that would have made an author spend paragraphs describing his eyes alone. And then there was the body.

Amor’s gaze betrayed him. Valdor’s broad chest remained partly exposed beneath his fresh furs, dark markings tracing across muscle and old scars. His shoulders seemed even wider from this close, while his powerful arms rested easily upon his thighs. The tapered line of his waist disappeared beneath leather and fur in a way Amor’s imagination had absolutely no business following. He dragged his thoughts upward.

Valdor’s jaw.

’Attractive!’

His mouth.

’Dangerous!’

His hands.

’Very attractive!’

His accent.

’Unfairly attractive!’

His body again.

Amor’s face began heating.

’No! Damn it, Amor, keep it in your pants! We’re only a day into a relationship! Ahh! I need a distraction!!’

He looked toward the books with abrupt desperation.

"Be-beginner books might not be right then!"

Valdor watched him. Amor began moving volumes aside with unnecessary speed.

"There-there must be one written for children or foreigners. Something with fewer explanations involving invisible letters and historical cruelty."

He opened one. Closed it. Opened another. Valdor remained quiet.

Amor had stopped speaking in the middle of a thought, stared directly at Valdor’s chest for several long seconds, then turned red enough to match the berry preserves from lunch. Valdor understood at least part of what had happened.

Amor had admired his hands before. His body. His accent. Perhaps he had been admiring his body again. Heat entered Valdor’s ears. It spread slowly down the sides of his neck, easier to hide beneath caramel skin but impossible for him not to feel. The embarrassment this time was unfamiliar, warm rather than unpleasant, and carried a strange pulse of satisfaction beneath it.

He liked being looked at by Amor.

That discovery unsettled him in an enjoyable way. Before Amor, Valdor had rarely cared whether anyone found him handsome. His size and strength were practical facts; his body existed to hunt, fight, build, carry, and survive. Admiration had never seemed useful enough to consider. Now Amor looked at him, and Valdor suddenly wanted to know what the gaze meant.

Did Amor prefer his chest?

His shoulders?

His markings?

The thought became dangerously specific. Valdor looked away. New emotions had become frequent since meeting Amor again. Jealousy. Inadequacy. Shyness. Hope. Now vanity, perhaps. He was beginning to enjoy discovering them.

Amor finally found a book he approved of.

"Aha! This one!"

Valdor looked toward the bright illustrated cover. It appeared intended for children under ten, about a baker going to the market. Amor noticed his expression.

"Haven’t you ever heard the expression ’don’t judge a book by its cover’?"

"I did not judge."

"You thought it. Humph! I can tell now, you were definitely thinking something judgy."

"Yes."

"Look, it even has pictures!"

"Yes."

"Pictures are useful for learning..."

Valdor nodded solemnly. Amor opened to a page displaying common household objects.

"Table."

"Table."

"Chair."

"Chair."

"Window."

"Window."

"Curtain."

"Curtain."

Valdor repeated everything perfectly. Amor frowned.

"You already knew those."

"Yes."

"Then tell me when you know something!"

"You are teaching."

"I am wasting time."

"No. It is not a waste."

"How is repeating words you already know not wasting time?"

"I like hearing you teach."

Amor’s mouth closed. That answer disarmed him. Valdor looked toward the next picture.

"Lamp."

Amor’s cheeks warmed again.

"Yes. Lamp."

The lesson continued. They moved through household vocabulary, clothing, foods, weather, emotions, formal titles, and ordinary verbs. Amor gradually stopped trying to explain every grammatical inconsistency and began simply giving examples, which proved far more effective. Valdor absorbed the patterns naturally. When Amor made a mistake, Valdor did not mock him. When Valdor mispronounced something, Amor corrected him without flattening the accent. They settled into a rhythm.

"This says acceptable."

Amor explained. Valdor repeated it with his heavy Blackstone cadence.

"Ac-cep-ta-ble."

Amor’s heart did something irritating.

"Again."

Valdor did. The word sounded even better. Amor cleared his throat.

"Good."

Valdor noticed the reaction. He stored it away. Several pages later, they reached common compliments. Amor read them aloud.

"Beautiful."

Valdor looked at him.

"Beautiful."

"Handsome."

"Handsome."

"Attractive."

Valdor’s ears warmed.

"Attractive."

Amor immediately realized the trap he had walked into. He turned the page. Valdor stopped him.

"This word."

"No."

"You skipped it."

"I did not!"

"You did."

"It is unnecessary! We’re moving on."

"What does it mean?"

"You-you already know."

"I want to hear it again."

Amor looked at him suspiciously. Valdor’s expression remained entirely serious. That made it worse.

"Attractive."

Amor repeated. Valdor echoed the word.

"Attractive."

The accent transformed it. Amor shut the book.

"We have learned enough compliments for today!"

Valdor’s slight smile appeared.

"You are doing that deliberately now!"

"Yes."

"Humph! You are becoming troublesome!"

"You said confidence was dangerous."

"Yes, and I was correct. As always!"

Valdor looked pleased. Time passed unnoticed. The late afternoon light shifted from bright gold toward deeper amber, stretching across the floor and gradually climbing the shelves. Their stack of completed pages grew, covered in Amor’s flowing kingdom script beside Valdor’s firmer handwriting. Several cookies disappeared as rewards, though Amor successfully negotiated one in advance after correctly explaining a difficult phrase without confusing himself.

Eventually, the room became quieter. Neither realized how late it had grown until a knock sounded at the door. Amor looked toward the windows. The sky beyond them had deepened toward evening. Valdor glanced at the books scattered around them. They had been studying for hours. Elsie’s voice came through the door.

"My lord?"

Amor straightened.

"Yes?"

"Dinner preparations are nearly complete. Are you and Lord Valdor ready to stop studying, or should I tell the kitchen that language lessons with your suitor tutor has delayed the household indefinitely?"

Amor looked toward Valdor. The warrior looked at him. Neither seemed particularly eager to stop. Amor glanced down at the beginner primer.

"I suppose we should eat some [food.]"

Amor smiled. Valdor nodded.

"You remembered."

"It is an important word in both languages. Perhaps the most important."

Valdor stood and began gathering the books. Amor watched him for a moment, the lavender ribbon still safely braided near his face and the fading sunset catching along the dark markings of his arms. The lesson had not gone the way Amor expected. He had proven himself a terrible teacher in several places, confused his own grammar, and discovered he did not understand half the rules of the language he spoke fluently. Valdor had learned anyway.

Perhaps teaching was less about already knowing every answer and more about being willing to find it together. That thought felt strangely appropriate for courtship. Elsie knocked again. Amor called toward the door.

"Ah! Yes, we are coming."

Then he remembered the ankle. He looked toward Valdor. The warrior had already moved beside him.

"May I?"

Amor smiled and lifted his arms.

"[You may.]"