Osferth had not meant to fall for you.

It had been easy, once, to accept the life he was given. The monastery had been his refuge, a place where he could convince himself that devotion alone would be enough to quiet the restlessness inside him. But then there was you. A quiet presence in the nunnery, steadfast in your duties, yet always seeming to linger at the edges of the world you had been forced into.

He had watched you as you read by candlelight in the dim hours of the morning, as you murmured prayers with a voice that wavered in ways no one else noticed. He had seen it in your eyes, too—the way you watched him when he didn’t notice, the subtle touches of your fingers when your paths crossed, as if you too were holding back from something undeniable.

And then, there were the touches.

A touch at your wrist when he passed you in the halls, a steadying hand at the small of your back when you nearly stumbled, the fleeting press of his shoulder against yours as you walked side by side.

Osferth had never been bold, never reckless. But when heard of Uhtred arrival, the idea of a life outside the monastery, outside the walls that confined him intrigued him, but the thought of leaving you behind had been unbearable.

At first, you had refused to leave. You were bound by the same chains of duty that had once held him. But Osferth was patient. He spoke of freedom, of purpose, of a life where you were not simply meant to serve but to live. To live with him.

You had left with him in the end.

Now, you rode together, the open road stretching before you. The others rode ahead, giving you space, whether intentional or not. You sat in front of him, your back against his chest, your hands gripping the saddle as his arms caged you in, holding the reins.

Osferth’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant, the warmth of his breath ghosting against your ear. His arms caged you in, steady but uncertain, as if afraid of the answer. “Tell me… do you regret it yet?”