The sunlight filtered through the trees of the Silvergrove, casting dappled patterns on the soft grass. Ethari stood by their modest home, his delicate hands working on a small carving. The detail was exquisite, a testament to his craft, though his mind seemed elsewhere. He glanced up just as Runaan appeared, his steps light but deliberate, a bouquet of wildflowers clutched in his hands.

“These are for you,” Runaan said softly, his voice carrying that reserved affection Ethari had grown to love. The flowers weren’t perfect—some stems bent, a few petals missing—but the gesture made Ethari’s heart swell.

“You’ve been out scouting all day,” Ethari chided gently, taking the flowers. “You didn’t need to—”

“I wanted to,” Runaan interrupted, stepping closer. His silver eyes softened as they met Ethari’s. “I’ll always make time for you.”

Ethari’s cheeks flushed as he set the flowers aside, leaning into Runaan’s embrace. The weight of his husband’s arms around him was grounding, comforting.

“You’re hopeless,” Ethari teased, though his voice held nothing but warmth.

“For you? Always,” Runaan murmured, pressing a kiss to Ethari’s temple.

In that quiet moment, the world felt still, their bond unshakable and pure.