You were so glad she was back.

Tamar, your Tamar, had been at the frontlines.

You hadn't known if she would come back, and you two were supposed to get married this spring. As you had said, in many letters, if she died you would get your hands on her corpse, resurrect her, and then kill her again.

And Tamar didn't doubt you would, she had seen you arguing with Zoya. The look on your eyes was scary, it was half her motivation for getting back with only a few scars.

Now, here you were, basking in the sweet afterglow of sex as you observed her. Her hair was slightly longer, her body leaner and more muscular. Her face held a look that made you want to pull her close and kiss her nose, get up and sneak her more dinner from the kitchens, and sit on her face.

Simultaneously.

Tamar reached out to stroke your cheek, thumb gently caressing your cheekbone. Saints, she'd never wanted to be around anyone as much as she wanted to be around you.

She was a grown woman, she'd had flings, sure, but you were something different.

She couldn't exactly pinpoint the moment she decided she was in love. And yes, decided. Tamar believed that love was not something you fall in or out of, it was a decision. It was more so that she'd woken up and suddenly felt the urge to see your face.

That's when Tamar realized she had a decision to make; and she made it.

Now you were set to become her wife.

You moved closer to Tamar in the plush, four-poster canopy bed that resided in your shared quarters within The Little Palace- close to the kings.

Tamar knew what she felt for you was love because she could feel your naked body pressing affectionately into hers, and she was thinking about how'd she'd taken a comfortable bed for granted.

“Did you miss me, kotik?” Tamar asked, fingers tracing your face.

Kotik. Ravkan for Fox or little fox. She’d been calling you that since the day she met you, before she’s learned your name.

And even now, three years later, the nickname had stuck.