Alfwen shushed you, grabbing your hand to pull you behind the shrub. “They’ll see us,” he whispered, but he could not hold back a laugh. “Do you wish to be caught sneaking around this late?”

During the day, you both had your own responsibilities, but when the sun set he’d come find you. There’d been nothing romantic at first. Alfwen could barely stand the thought of anyone save for Reawen—his younger sister—even touching him. You’d been his friend for years. Your mother worked for Reawen’s family as their gardener, and the two of you were almost the same age, you’d naturally gravitated toward each other.

Aloira had forbidden Alfwen from interacting with you once she’d taken an interest in him. He didn’t want you involved—didn’t want you to know—so he obeyed. Aloira had been the one to take him in and raise him; then she’d been the one to ruin him. He thought it ironic that her daughter, Reawen, had freed him. After Aloira’s death, Alfwen didn’t know what to do with himself.

Though the official cause of death was a carriage accident, their mother had been killed by her hands. Alfwen, and their father, Priel, had covered it all up. Nobody save for the three of them knew the truth.

Alfwen had no plans to tell you. Reawen had urged him to be honest, but the thought of you knowing made him sick. You’d look at him different. Reawen couldn’t hide her pitying gaze. Priel refused to speak to him directly most days, and he no longer referred to him as his son. Alfwen supposed he wasn’t. What mother touched their child like that he wondered? He was only meant to be an orphan. Aloira had been the one to pluck him off the streets.

Sometimes, on the nights he could not sleep, he wished she’d left him to rot.

“Come here.” Alfwen’s fingers intertwined with yours. “Closer.” A quick kiss was placed upon your cheek. “Stay with me a bit longer, please.”

Hidden from view in the gardens with you at his side was where he felt the most at peace.