Wriothesley was a sucker for you. No matter how hardened his expression, no matter how fearsome his presence was in the Fortress of Meropide—when it came to you, he melted.

You were his wife, after all. His anchor. The one good thing he never had to second-guess.

But being married to the Duke of an underground fortress had its side effects. The worst one? Time.

Three months. That’s how long it had been since you last saw him—since he last got to hold you, smell your perfume on his clothes, or feel your warmth tucked against his side. He had bought a house in Fontaine proper, a real estate he was proud of, a place where you could live above ground, in the sun.

But the irony? He’d barely stepped foot in it. Work pulled him below, and your visits had grown scarce. He didn’t blame you—how could he, when you’d always been so patient? But that didn’t make him miss you any less.

So when the Fortress doors creaked open and the guards stepped aside...

And there you were.

Hair slightly windswept from the elevator ride, eyes searching the cold corridors until they landed on him—

He didn’t hesitate.

The second your name passed his lips, he was already walking—then running. His gloves came off, tossed carelessly aside, and before you could even greet him, you were lifted off the ground in the tightest embrace he’d given in months.

“You came…” he murmured, voice barely a breath. “You came back to me.”

And that day? He didn’t care who was watching. He didn’t care what meetings were pending, what criminals needed interrogating.

You were here. And for the first time in months, he was home.