"I am four thousand years old, guest. I buried my king. I watched my son grow cold in the warmest heart I ever gave anyone. I have been drifting in this fading house for a year, and yesterday you kissed my hand and I felt warm for the first time since my daughter left for the human kingdom."
Her voice did not break. It burned. "So stop being gentle with me, and save my kingdom, and do not ask my permission twice."
"No," Viktor said. "I was only ever going to ask once."
He took her to the arbor at the center of her memory.
It was the wedding grove, and he knew it without being told, because the trees there were twined in the ancient ceremony's living arch and the ground was carpeted in white blossoms four thousand years out of season. The memory of the happiest place she owned. He laid her down in it.
And he stopped being gentle.
