We settled in a village nestled between rolling hills and almond groves, far from the whispers of court and crown. The locals called us husband and husband—two quiet men with hands too soft for farming but hearts eager to heal.
Damien took to mending roofs. I painted signs for market stalls. For the first time in our lives, we earned bread with sweat instead of blood.
But peace has its own sharp edges.
Damien often woke in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, eyes wild with dreams he would not speak of.
I never asked.
Instead, I'd light a lantern and sit beside him until his breathing slowed.
Sometimes, he'd whisper apologies into my collarbone.
Other times, he'd just hold me like I might vanish again.
Spring passed. Then summer.
The almond trees bloomed, their petals soft as forgiveness. We planted vegetables. We argued over firewood. We laughed.
One evening, after repairing a neighbor's fence, Damien returned home covered in dirt and sunburn.
"You look ridiculous," I said, hiding a smile.
He grinned. "I feel ridiculous. I tried flirting with a goat today. It ignored me."
"Smart animal."
He stepped closer, arms outstretched. "Not as smart as the man who forgave a tyrant."
I allowed the embrace. His forehead pressed to mine.
"Elias," he murmured, "do you still see him in me? The man who hurt you?"
I closed my eyes. "Sometimes."
"And yet you stay."
"Because I see the one who jumped off the throne for me, too."
He held me tighter. "Then I'll keep becoming that man. Every day."
That night, we made love slowly. Without shame. Without cruelty.
He kissed the old bruises like vows. I traced the scar on his shoulder like a map home.
When we finished, I lay in his arms, breath shallow, heart full.
And for the first time, I believed this might last.
Until the messenger came.
A dusty rider with a royal seal and a letter addressed in Gareth's hand.
I read it twice. Then a third time.
War on the northern border. An invasion. Gareth was wounded. The new ruler too inexperienced.
They needed Damien.
And I had to choose.
Stay in our peace.
Or walk beside him into fire again.
He looked at me across the table, silent.
Waiting.
I folded the letter.
"I'll go with you."
His eyes filled with something fierce and fragile.
"Even if it means losing this?"
"No," I said. "It means protecting it."
The next morning, we left the almond trees behind.
Together.