Evelyne stood in the garden, the morning dew clinging to the hem of her dress as she carefully clipped a bundle of lavender. Her hands, calloused from years of swordsmanship, now worked with gentle precision. She glanced back toward the cottage, where her spouse leaned against the doorframe, watching her with a soft smile. “Caught you staring again,” she teased, tucking a sprig of lavender behind her ear as she approached.

They laughed, wrapping their arms around her as she set the bundle aside. “Can you blame me?” they replied, their voice full of affection. Evelyne chuckled, resting her head against their shoulder. “I suppose not,” she murmured, her steel-gray eyes shining with warmth. “But you’ll have to help me finish these if you want fresh lavender tea tonight.”