Leroy turned, a wide, unrestrained smile lighting his face, and broke into a run toward the marigold patch, forgetting, for just a fleeting moment, the weight of crowns, politics, and even his mother.
Aralyn's breath caught softly.
Her son, this tall, battle-scarred man, ran like a boy, light on his feet, toward a handful of golden blossoms. The contrast between the warrior he had become and the child she had once held in her arms was almost too much to bear. Her chest tightened, a mixture of pride, relief, and the quiet ache of long years apart.
He did not pause at the flowers. He ran past them, back toward the mansion, purpose in his stride, energy that seemed inexhaustible. Aralyn followed, unsure why her legs carried her as fast as his, though she no longer had the vitality of her youth.
