Emma sat on the stone bench beneath the dovecote, her skirts brushed with pale feathers. The doves fluttered around her feet, pecking at the crumbs she usually tossed with a smile, but today her hand was still. Her fingers only rubbed absently at the silk scarf folded in her lap, the same one Elias had pressed into her hands days ago, stiff and awkward as ever, muttering something about "keeping her hair out of her eyes."
She sighed, lowering her head, her curved lashes veiling her eyes. The scarf was soft against her skin, but her thoughts were heavy, circling back to the mistake she had made, the worry she had caused her princess.
The crunch of boots on gravel startled her. She looked up, and there he was… Elias, tall, rigid as a blade drawn straight from its sheath. He stopped a pace away, frowning down at her with that familiar unreadable expression that somehow carried more weight than any smile.
