Archive of Our Own ^beta

March hated meeting new people. He’d always hated it–learning new names, awkward small talk, and pleasantries that wouldn’t ever matter again–and meeting Mistria’s newest resident was no different. One look at her soft features and clear hazel skin, her lustrous purple hair, and he knew. She wouldn’t stay. They never did.

He didn’t bother trying to remember her name. Why should he? She’d be gone by next week.

The door above the shop tinkled, and Olric cheerily said, “Lacey, hi!”

Lacey? March dropped the blueprint he’d been reviewing, spinning to face the showroom floor. There, dripping spring rain onto the wood of the entry, was the new farmer. March cast back in his memory, trying to remember how long it had been since she’d arrived. Had it been a week already? Had it been two? He cursed himself for not knowing, but there was no reason that he should.

Lacey drew a heavy-looking sack over her shoulder. Olric bounded forward, taking it from her easily.

“Thank you!” She beamed up at his brother with dancing blue eyes and dimples in her cheeks. Olric blushed faintly. March rolled his eyes. “That’s the ore I promised.”

What?

“Wow, you got it quick! Thank you!” Olric dropped the sack on the countertop with a thunk, stooping to reach for the box of tesserae they kept behind the counter. “Let me get you–”

Lacey cut him off quickly. “Oh, no, that’s not necessary.”

Olric straightened slowly. “Are you sure? Those mines are dangerous.”

“How’d you get into the mines?” March only knew his voice was too sharp because of the way Olric’s head snapped toward him.

Lacey blinked at him, smile frozen. “I… walked?” They’d spoken maybe a handful of times, including him expressing his irritation with her presence and expectation of failure. He knew he deserved that brittle smile, but that didn’t stop jealousy from rearing up. She didn’t smile at Olric that way.

“Eiland convinced Errol to open them,” Olric interjected. He only shrugged when March glared at him. “We need the ore, March. We’re backed up on orders as it is.”

“I can bring you more tomorrow.” Lacey’s real smile–and he chose not to think about why he knew it was real–was back in full. “I just need to drop off some–”

“We don’t need your help.” He flinched at the harshness of his own tone. Lacey’s face twisted for a moment before she plastered that fake smile back in place, but even March could see that it took effort.

“Alright, well, you just let me know if you change your mind.” She turned to his brother. “Good luck with your orders.”

Olric’s smile was almost as stiff as hers. “Thanks, Lacey. Don’t work too hard.”

March turned back to his blueprints, but he still felt the way Olric whirled to face him when the door swung shut.

“Bro.” How he managed to pack so much shock and disappointment into that single syllable, March would never know.

He feigned nonchalance. “What?”

Olric sighed. “There’s no need to be rude, March. She’s just trying to help.”

“We don’t need her help,” he repeated stubbornly.

Olric didn’t respond, but March got the sense that he was shaking his head.

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He could hear voices as he walked up the dirt track to Landen’s cabin. He could just make out Ryis’s low murmur as he rested his hand on the doorknob. He’d already begun to open the door by the time he registered Lacey’s high, tinkling laugh.

He stiffened involuntarily, debating whether he could get away with hiding until she left.

“March, is that you?”

Damn.

With a sigh, he opened the door and stepped into the shop. “Hey, Ryis.” He didn’t greet Lacey, waiting until she was in full view to pretend to notice her. “Lacey.”

Her smile was tight. “March.” She turned back to Ryis. “I’ve got to go, but let me know if you need any more wood.

“Sure thing, Lacey! And let me know if you need any help clearing that property of yours. Her smile softened and, even though it was his own fault for being rude, it made something in March’s chest twinge.

“No, Ryis, that’s alright. I appreciate the offer, though.” She turned to go, avoiding March’s steely gaze as she did. “You two have fun.”

“You too!” Ryis called. He sighed when the door shut behind her, and March braced himself for more disapproval.

“She’s great,” Ryis said instead, dreamy as he watched the door.

March blinked. “What’s so great about her?”

Ryis blinked, incredulous. “You’re joking, right?”

March shrugged. “Everyone seems to love her, but I don’t get it.”

Ryis didn’t miss a beat. “Maybe that’s because you’re an ornery grouch?” His tone was so matter-of-fact, so without judgement, that March couldn’t even bring himself to be bothered by the comment.

“She’s just here for the land. Once she turns a profit, she’ll go back to the Capital. I just don’t see any reason to get attached.”

Ryis said nothing for so long that March turned to look at him. The other boy looked… bemused. “I can’t believe you’d think that.”

“She will,” March insisted. Ryis scoffed, and then March did bristle. “She’s not going to stay here, roughing it in that broken down old house, raising animals when she could go back to a life of luxury.”

Ryis barked out a laugh, but March’s characteristic pessimism seemed to have snapped him out of his state of disbelief. “Man, it’s like you’ve never even had a conversation with her.” March said nothing, because that was mostly true. Ryis watched him out of the corner of his eye, patient as always, before continuing. “She’s excited about the farm. She never got to do anything like this in the Capital, didn’t even really live there. She was a caravan guard.”

March blinked, fingers stumbling over the tools he’d been collecting. “A caravan guard?”

“Yeah, man.” Ryis dropped a handful of nails into his bag before taking the hammer from March’s numb hands. “A caravan guard. She had to fight every day, and she never had a safe place to sleep at night. Here she’s got a roof and a bed, and animals that depend on her to feed them, not people she’s got to fight for. It’s a whole new life for her, and I don’t think she’s going anywhere.”

March stayed silent as he tried to envision Lacey as a guard; tried to picture her smiling face as she held a sword; tried to picture her being friendly with her wards and harsh with would-be bandits. He couldn’t see it.

Ryis sighed again, dropping a heavy hand on March’s shoulder. “Look, man. Just give her a chance, alright? I’m not saying you have to love her, or even make friends. Just give her a shot, alright? Do it for me.”

March’s mouth felt suddenly as though it had been stuffed with cotton. He nodded. Ryis squeezed his shoulder and, without another word, walked out the door.

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Of course it had to be pouring rain outside. March looked up as Lacey opened the shop door, hunched against the torrent. She glanced up, but didn’t hold his gaze.

“I didn’t think you’d actually show.” He tried to keep the worst of the venom out of his voice, but it still came out sharp.

Lacey’s voice, on the other hand, had never sounded so soft. “I got your note.” She hesitated in the doorway, as though unwilling or unable to drip onto his showroom floor. Something about that raised his ire. Just a week ago, she’d come bounding in without a care in the world. One (more) less than kind word from him and now she tucked her tail? This woman who was meant to have been a caravan guard? She finally looked up, meeting his gaze for one brief moment before looking away again. “Did you need something, March? Or did you just want to glower at me?”

That did it. “Oh, please,” he snapped. To her credit, Lacey only raised her chin when he stepped into her space. “You’re in way over your head. You come out here, no money, no experience, and think you can just fake your way through running a farm?” he snarled. Lacey flinched back, and he hated that. He didn’t want her here, but that didn’t mean he wanted her scared. He made an effort to soften his words, and the next ones came out too vulnerable. “It’s all fun and games now, but the second things actually get tough, I’m sure you’re going to ditch Mistria and its problems.”

Too far. Lacey blinked back tears, and March kicked himself for being an ass.

She took several deep breaths before speaking through clenched teeth. “I’m not going anywhere.” They stared at each other, both breathing hard.

“We’ll see.” He couldn’t stop the words from coming out, so he just shoved the copper hoe he’d made at her, making her stumble back. “If you fail, you can’t blame it on a lack of help from me.” He took one more deep breath, thinking of the promise he’d made to Ryis. “Who knows, maybe you’ll surprise me. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

She raised her chin in some attempt at mockery–or maybe in an effort to combat the tears. She nodded sharply, spun on her heel, and was gone in a flurry of wind and rain and the slam of the shop door.

March blew out a breath and reached for the mop he kept near the entrance. When he’d managed to sop up the puddle she’d left, he leaned heavily on the handle.

That… could have gone much better.

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It was an uneasy peace that formed over the course of the season. The forge was so busy that March hardly left, but he heard stories about the crops and resources Lacey donated to town projects; heard about how she’d rebuilt the bridge out of Mistria, finally allowing the Saturday Market vendors to return.

Sometimes, she’d call out a greeting as she passed him at the forge. Sometimes, he could see her bustling by with armfuls of wood or forage or ore from behind his counter.

He heard about her every night he went to the inn, and plenty of nights he didn’t.

“We planted a tree!” Ryis told him while he waited for nails. “She said she’s gonna help me build a birdhouse, when it’s grown enough!”

“It would have taken me months to collect all that wood on my own,” Hayden told Olric at dinner. “Not to mention the stone. Where does she even get all of it?”

“You can thank Lacey for the herbs,” Juniper said as he stepped into the baths. “She’s been collecting them for me.”

“That Lacey,” Elsie simpered. “She’s just so helpful. And would you believe it, she’s been growing tea for Josephine and I!”

Josephine was just as excited about the tea, and Hemlock was always happy to see his wife smile. Reina loved anyone who made her parents and siblings so happy, and March knew just how much the kids loved her because the Dragonguard chattered about her while they watched him work.

“She caught me a frog!”

“She brought me a flower!”

“She found me a bumblebee! And she said she’ll get me more!”

Sometimes late at night, from his bed, he could hear the clanging of the forge. He’d been loathe to teach her to use it, but she seemed to hold her own with simple projects. Now, he was just grateful not to have the extra orders.

He was less grateful when Olric went behind his back to ask for her help with Adeline’s latest project order. He spent the day stewing in the heat of the forge and his own anger, while Olric chattered away to Lacey. Over the course of the day, though, it seeped out of him alongside his energy, until all that was left was exhaustion, the soreness that followed a day’s hard work, and a profound thankfulness that his meddling brother had convinced her to help.

And a strange enchantment with the flush in her cheeks, and the way her mauve hair fell from its once-neat buns to stick to her temples, and the glittering of her ocean eyes.

“That was fun!”

She was beaming, and he was pretty sure he was smiling too.

“Yeah!” he agreed. She turned to look at him, eyebrows practically in her hair line, and the corners of her mouth curving slowly up. March’s palms began to sweat. “I mean… thanks, Lacey.”

He ran off quickly after that, blaming the heat before locking himself in his room.

What was that?

For weeks, she’d been dropping ore off for him while he worked or slept. She’d hand it to Olric or leave it laying on his counter. She never brought it when he was around, probably in an effort to avoid his ire.

That changed after their day working the forge together, though.

It became a ritual, of sorts. Several days a week, she’d come in the evenings with sacks of ore for him. She’d drop it on the counter, browsing his tools while he counted it out. As the days got longer, her visits got later, and even though March liked to close down the forge before dark, he found himself working until she came striding from the Narrows.

“Waiting for me?” she teased one night, against a backdrop of stars.

He forced himself to scowl. “I need that ore.” There was no bite to his words any more, and Lacey only rolled her eyes. She’d warmed to his grumpiness just like he’d warmed to her shy cheerfulness, but their friendship was still tenuous at best. Better to keep her at arms’ length, March thought. She could still be gone by winter.

“I know you do, big guy.” She swung the bag off her shoulder, aiming for his anvil, but missed by a good few inches when her face screwed up in pain. Without meaning to, March dropped his hammer and reached out for her, letting the heavy sack hit the stone at their feet with a clatter.

“Woah, what happened? You okay?” He ghosted his hands over her shoulders, uncertain whether or not he should touch her.

“I’m fine,” she gasped, one hand held to her ribs. March raised an eyebrow, and Lacey winced. “I… may have picked a fight with a clod.”

“A clod?” All caution went out the window with that. Olric had told him about the clods–vicious little creatures that spat rock and ore, with great force—and come home with cuts and bruises on more than one occasion. He dropped to his knees, pulling her shirt up to reveal a blotchy, bruised patch of skin on her torso. “Lacey, we gotta get you to Valen.”

“I’m fine, March,” she bit out. He looked up and saw her clenching her teeth, tanned skin darkened with embarrassment even in the dim glow of the lanterns, and realized their position. He scrambled up, tugging her shirt back down.

“Sorry. Olric, y-you,” he stammered. The words tangled in his mouth, so he settled for gesturing at her side before rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Please go see Valen.” It was probably the nicest thing he’d ever said to her, aside from drunkenly telling her she “wasn’t so bad” all those weeks ago. Definitely the most gently he’d ever spoken to her.

She blinked at him, still blushing and still wincing, before nodding slowly. “Okay, I’ll go see Valen.”

“I’ll take you.” The words were out before he could stop them, so he leaned into the moment and held out a hand. Lacey hesitated. “I don’t bite, Lace.”

He did bite his own tongue, though. Lace? Where had that come from?

Lacey’s blush deepened but, slowly, she took his proffered hand.

March hadn’t thought this far ahead. Aside from his clumsy attempts to survey her injury, this was the first time they’d touched. This was the first time she had touched him.

He wasn’t quite sure what to do with that.

Before he could overthink it, he walked brusquely in the direction of the clinic, towing Lacey behind. He barely registered the look on Valen’s face when he barged in, or being ushered to sit while she examined Lacey. He found himself staring, unseeing, at the wall until Valen stepped out into the lobby. He shot to his feet, unsure of what he should even say.

“Is she okay?” he asked.

Valen nodded. “She'll be fine,” she said, and her expression was placid enough that March found himself relaxing. “I want her to take it easy over the next few days, though. No mining.”

March nodded eagerly. “That won’t be a problem,“ he said. “I’ve got her mining bag in my shop.“

“You know that having my mining bag wouldn’t stop me from going, right?“

“How about,” March retorted, “you make things easy for both of us and just stay home for once?“

Lacey tensed, but seemed to decide that he wasn’t actually trying to pick a fight. She deflated in his peripheral vision, huffing out a heavy breath. “You’re going to be short on ore this week.”

March shrugged. “I’ll have Balor buy some for me.”

“It’s expensive,” she said, and it was almost a whine.

“It’ll be a lot more expensive to do surgery if you don’t let those ribs heal,” Valen interjected.

March raised his eyebrows in Lacey’s direction. Lacey glared at Valen.

“Would you walk her home, please?”

“Sure.”

“I can get home on my own.”

They stopped to glare at each other.

“Really, I’m–”

“Lacey.” He knew the moment her name left his lips that he’d let too much into it; too much of his worry, too much of the confusion he felt around her lately.

Her mouth snapped shut, and March found himself holding his breath. Then she nodded. He let the breath out as he turned to open the door, hoping he didn’t look as vulnerable as he felt. Lacey squeezed past him, calling her thanks to Valen over her shoulder, and then waited for him at the bottom of the steps. They made it to the fountain before she spoke.

“I really am okay to get home on my own,” she said softly.

“And I really would feel better walking you,” March admitted, equally as softly.

“Okay.”

It was a nice night, finally cooling from the summer heat. There were crickets in the tall grass, and March could hear the faint splashing of fish over the muted roar of the waterfall upriver. He turned his face up, toward the sky, to take in the glittering blanket of stars overhead. When was the last time he’d been down this way? Years, surely. Certainly long before Lacey came to Mistria. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever even known who lived here before the earthquake, or if anyone had.

“Are we friends, March?”

He’d been so lost in thought that the question made him reel back, though he supposed that might have happened regardless.

“I… uh…”

Lacey let out a quiet breath, and March knew that he’d made a mistake. He braced himself for an admission he hadn’t wanted to think about.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Yes, we’re friends.”

He hadn’t realized how much tension was in Lacey’s shoulders until he watched them sag in relief. She looked up at him with such happiness that he couldn’t stop from smiling.

“I’m glad.”

The dirt underfoot softened as they stepped foot onto her farm, turning between apple saplings she must have planted.

“Me too.”

The little arbor didn’t last more than a few feet, and then they were back under the stars again. March blinked in surprise at the sight before him. There was a veritable forest surrounding a clearing of stumps, rises of stone as far as the eye could see, a tiny garden plot of indeterminate crops, and a barn.

“Oh, no,” Lacey breathed. She rushed off before March could ask what was wrong, making a beeline for a pair of cows lowing at the sight of her. He could hardly make out her quiet apologies under the animals’ sounds, but she wrenched the door open to let them in. She let out a soft cry at the motion, and March cursed under his breath. He darted forward, reaching over her to drag the heavy door out.

“Would you move?” he muttered, and waved at the animals in the hope that they’d move inside. They both did, and Lacey huffed.

“Thank you,” she said. She was clutching her ribs, but reached out when he began to pull the doors shut. “Wait! I’ve still got to milk Maisie.”

March grumbled under his breath and heaved the door open. “I’ve never milked a cow before,” he announced. He rolled his eyes at Lacey’s wide-eyed shock. “I’m a blacksmith, you’re supposed to be the farmer.”

“Well, then let me milk my own cow!”

“No.” He picked up a nearby stool and positioned it near the cow’s hindquarters. “Tell me what to do.”

“You’ll need a bucket first,” she muttered. She lifted the lid of a nearby trunk to produce one, which she held out to him. “Okay, so you just… ugh, this is so weird.”

March decided to capitalize on this whole concept of not overthinking. He bumped her lightly with his shoulder. “Then don’t make it weird, weirdo.”

“Shut up!” She bumped him back, but she was giggling. “Okay, um…” He jumped when she took his hand. When she leaned forward, her body pressed against his back and her hair fell over his shoulder. Suddenly, March was grateful for the darkness. “So you just…” She seemed incapable of finishing the thought, and March wondered whether she was as affected by their proximity as he seemed to be.

Her grip on his fingers was firm, and he was grateful that working the forge meant he had good muscle memory. He was much more focused on the feeling of her skin pressed to his than what she was trying to teach him, trapped in a haze long after he saw her to her door with a bucket of fresh milk. Had he even said goodnight? He must have. He made it all the way to the forge before snapping out of it at the sight of her bag.

He sighed, lifting the sack over his shoulder as he made his way inside. He laid it on the counter and moved to his work bench, determined to at least track the day’s orders before bed. It didn’t take long before he was standing, stretching his aching neck as he turned. He misjudged the space though, catching his arm on the strap of Lacey’s bag and dragging the whole thing over the side of the counter.

The bag’s ties slid open, spilling ore across his floor. He groaned as he knelt to pick it up, hoping the sound hadn’t woken Olric. He needn’t have worried; Olric slept like the dead.

Which was good. Because March sat on the floor for a long, long time, holding up a handful of precious, dark ore he hadn’t seen since before the earthquake.

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“What were you doing so deep in the mines?”

“Good morning to you too.” Lacey squinted at him from the doorway. March shifted nervously; maybe it was too early. Should he have let her sleep? She peered around him into the yard, watching her cows graze. “What are you doing here?”

“Helping.” He shoved the bucket he was holding into her hands. “What were you doing so deep in the mines?”

Lacey scowled down at the milk. “I wasn’t all that deep. You milked Maisie?”

March’s cheeks heated. “Should I not have done that?”

“No, I… thank you. You just took me by surprise is all.” She finally looked up at him. “Coffee? I don’t have any hot chocolate, I’m sorry.”

March’s heart kicked up before he remembered that she knew what everyone liked.

“Y-yeah, coffee sounds great.”

She smiled and turned, stepping into her house and expecting him to follow. He did. He stopped just inside the door, though, shocked by the utter emptiness of her home.

There was an old, worn-looking bed jammed in the corner of the room. The patchwork coverlet was half off, showing that he probably had arrived too early, and a black cat curled under it, fast asleep. Lacey stood at a tiny wood stove in the corner, pouring coffee into mismatched cups she pulled from a wooden chest, and turned to set them on the surface of a much-abused table. The chairs tucked under it were the only other pieces of furniture in the room.

He gawked at the emptiness until Lacey scuffed her toe against the floor.

“You built a bridge.”

“Uh…” She stumbled in surprise. “Yeah.”

“You paid for it.”

“I… did, yes?”

“You don’t have a couch. And your land is a mess.”

Her expression was growing increasingly confused as he went on. “I don’t really… have people over.” Well that couldn’t be right.

She scuffed her toe against the floor again, something he’d noticed she did when she was nervous. “I haven’t really had time to prioritize the land. And I hadn’t realized my lack of furniture would be so distressing to you.” She was watching him cautiously, as though waiting for him to snap.

“I just… I guess I thought…” He took a deep breath. “I thought you were just chipping in. I didn’t realize that you’ve been funding the town.”

Lacey scoffed, turning to pour milk into their coffee. “That’s what’s bothering you?”

March could feel the heat rising in his face. “I just… you should have a couch.”

“Noted.” She pushed his coffee toward him. “Drink it while it’s hot, mister hot drinks year round.”

He choked on the coffee, scalding his lips and tongue in the process. Lacey giggled, and he couldn’t stop the smile that crept up on him.

“Shut up,” he muttered, fixing his gaze on a particularly deep furrow in the table’s warped surface.

“Hey, March?”

“Hey, Lacey?”

When she didn’t speak, he raised his head to watch as she picked at her fingernails.

“Come to the Shooting Star Festival with me?”

March sat stunned, unblinking and unbreathing. Did she even know what she was asking? Eventually, Lacey looked up with a miserable expression.

“Or not, no pressure. I’m sure you want to spend it with Olric, it was probably silly of me to a–”

“F-fine,” he managed, heart thundering. “I'll go with you.” A slow smile spread over Lacey’s lips, erasing the tension that he hadn’t noticed reappearing in her shoulders, and he wondered absently why his presence seemed to bring her so much stress. Of course that train of thought was entirely unhelpful, as it drew his eyes along the line of her throat, down her torso and the loose shirt and soft shorts she must have slept in. He barely stopped himself from shaking his head before forcing his eyes up. He cleared his throat. “Olric will definitely badger me if I say no."

Her smile froze for a beat as she tried to decide whether or not he was being serious. She must have decided not.

“Shut up,” she said through a smile.

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March had always known he was an ass, but this really took the cake.

He’d been so self-conscious at the Shooting Star Festival that he’d practically bitten Lacey’s head off for inviting him. He knew he’d hurt her feelings by asking if she’d asked him as a joke, but she’d rallied enough by the time they reached her house to proudly show him the couch she’d made a special point to purchase.

“Does it meet your requirements?”

He couldn’t even remember what he’d said in response, only that she’d looked utterly crestfallen by it.

He had done his best to fix what he’d broken, going to the farm early to break outcroppings of rock, and even going so far as to offer her part-time work at the forge. She’d shown up, and he’d basked in her presence that day, content to simply watch, enthralled, as she worked his forge with a grace he’d seldom seen. That day had been good until he’d rounded the anvil to place her hands on the edge of the shield. Until he’d touched her and been overwhelmed with a wash of emotion he couldn’t name. She’d looked up at him, eyes wide and lips parted, wisps of purple plastered to sunkissed brown skin, and he’d been overcome with a sudden, unbearable urge to kiss her.

He hadn’t done it. Of course he hadn’t.

That interaction had colored every other since, though. The way she’d looked at him haunted his dreams and waking moments until he thought he’d go crazy from thinking about her. She blushed when she saw him, smiling shyly and avoiding his gaze, and their conversations were stilted and charged.

She must have seen how desperately he wanted her, must have seen the affection he’d lost the ability to hide. She was too sweet to reject him outright, so she’d been waiting for the best way to let him down gently. There was no other explanation.

That was why he hadn’t asked for her help with the Crest, and why he’d been so dead set on getting the gold himself.

Stupid. He’d been arrogant and stupid. That’s why he was stuck down here in the cold and damp with a broken arm and no one to blame but himself. Earlier in the evening, he’d been angry. Berating himself. Now, after who knew how long, he felt only resignation.

Of course it was dramatic to think he’d die down here, but… it wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility. Lacey was the only one who came to the mines.

Lacey. What would she think? He’d been harsh with her these last weeks, almost as much as when she’d first come. How long had it been? Over half a year, and in that time, she’d made herself a part of the town itself, woven into the fabric so tightly that it would crumble without her.

He would crumble without her. And that made him angry, because why had he ever let her become so important? So central to life that his days didn’t feel complete when he didn’t see her, that he felt a piece of himself missing when he didn’t get to hear her laugh or see her smile?

If he closed his eyes, he could picture that shining smile so clearly. As if in a fever dream, he could almost hear her calling to him. She sounded worried, though. Why? He wanted her to sound happy.

“March!”

His eyes snapped open.

“Lacey,” he whispered, and heard the echo of his name again. He scrambled to his feet, shouting for her. “Lacey!”

“March!”

Relief at hearing her voice nearly choked him until panic overtook it. She was moving fast toward him.

“Lacey! Don’t come over here! The ground–” He was cut off by an ominous rumbling and Lacey’s shriek. He had to step back to avoid falling rocks, but his heart was racing, arm forgotten as he lunged into the pile of debris.

“Lacey!” No response.

His lungs felt constricted, unable to draw full breaths in as he shifted rocks aside in a mad dash to find her. Dust billowed up, clouding his vision and preventing him from calling to her. After what felt like hours, his fingers closed around soft flesh.

“Thank you, thank you,” he murmured, to he didn’t even know who, pulling with his one good arm. He managed to pull her limp form from the rocks, only to feel a new wash of panic.

Her eyes were closed, a trickle of blood running down her cheek. March sat hard, pulling her into his lap.

“Lacey?” She didn’t stir. He hoisted her further up, tilting her head back against his shoulder. “Lacey, c’mon. Please…”

Her long lashes fluttered with a sharp intake of breath. He breathed out a sigh of relief, letting his forehead drop against hers.

“March?” She sounded breathless, but not weak. “Oh thank goodness I found you. Olric was so worried!” She sat forward with some small effort, groaning as she did.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” March asked, eyes tracing over her shoulders and back in the dim light.

“I’m fine,“ she said, but she ran her hands over herself before turning to face him. “I’m fine, “she repeated with a nod. She seemed to be taking inventory of him in that moment, and she reached forward to touch his shoulder lightly. “But you’re not! Oh, March, your arm…”

She fluttered her fingers over the break as she surveyed it, and March found himself desperate to fill the silence.

“I came here looking for ore… but then the ground collapsed without warning. I landed pretty hard, I guess.”

Lacey let her fingers gently circle his wrist, but gasped as she gripped him tighter.

“What?” March asked, anxiety bubbling up all over again.

Lacey looked up sharply. “You’re freezing cold!”

March scoffed a laugh. “Well, what do you expect? I’ve been down here all night. Between my arm and the cold, it was a rough one.” At least the cold had numbed his arm.

Lacey grimaced, looking back to the injured limb before moving forward. She tucked herself under his chin, wrapping an arm around him. “W-what are you…?” he stammered.

“We need to get you warm before you freeze to death.” She chafed her hands up and down his back, careful of his broken arm, and March felt himself melting into her touch. He sighed heavily as he gave into temptation and pulled her closer.

“You shouldn’t have come, Lacey.”

She stiffened against him. “Why not?”

“Because now you’re trapped here, too.”

She snorted, but relaxed. “Better than you being trapped here by yourself.” She moved closer, shifting to lay against his chest. He’d never held anyone like this before, only watched Josephine lean against Hemlock and Holt hold Nora’s hand. Had his parents done this? It had been so long and he’d been so young that he didn’t even remember. He leaned back against the rubble behind them. It would hurt his back soon, he was sure, but it was worth it to be this close to her.

“I care about you, March.” Her voice was soft in the darkness. He inhaled sharply. I care about you, too, he wanted to say, but the words seemed trapped behind his teeth. He said nothing. Lacey seemed to deflate against him. “You’re my best friend.”

Best friend. A year ago, he’d have leapt for joy to be someone’s best friend, anyone’s best friend. Hearing it now made him want to cry. So he laughed instead, sharp and cold.

“That’s sad.” It took less than a second to realize how that must sound, so he quickly added, “For you, I mean.”

Lacey huffed out a soft laugh. “You sure are prickly.”

“Yeah,” he mused bitterly. “I sure am.”

“You should have asked for my help. I’d have been happy to get you the ore.”

“I know.”

She angled her head to watch him from the corner of her eye. “Why didn’t you?”

He didn’t answer for a long time. “My mother was a master blacksmith,” he said cautiously. Lacey stayed silent. He could feel her watching him, even as he closed his eyes. “She made the last Gold Dragon Crest.”

He knew it wasn’t an explanation, but he was surprised when, after a pause, Lacey asked, “Gold Dragon Crest?”

“I thought Olric would have told you.”

Lacey shook her head against his shoulder.

March sighed. “Adeline’s father commissioned a Gold Dragon Crest, and she brought it to me. I said yes, and Olric said I should ask you for the ore, but… my mother made the last Crest, all by herself. I wanted to make this one on my own.” He couldn’t tell if he was upset about letting down his mother, or about falling short of what he’d expected of himself… or if he was still choking on the disappointment of being Lacey’s best friend, even when he didn’t know what he’d rather be instead. He swallowed it all down. “I wanted to prove that I’m just as good as she was, and that I don’t need her.”

“Oh, March.”

He fought the sudden urge to push her away, to get as far away as he could. “I don’t need your pity, Lacey.”

She startled him by laughing, wrapping her arms more tightly around him. “I don’t pity you, idiot.” The lighthearted barb was enough to ease his muscles again. “Did I ever tell you why I became a caravan guard?”

That surprised him. “No. In fact, Ryis is the only reason I knew you’d been a guard in the first place.”

Lacey heaved a great breath. “I grew up with nothing.” She spoke quickly, as though ashamed to be admitting this. “We were poor as dirt, but we were happy. My father drove wagons for a caravan and my mother cleaned the shopkeep’s house. My brother and I were alone most of the time, but we’d play caravans and bandits. He would bring me apples. I idolized him.” March thought of the rows of apple trees that lined the path to her farm, and how comfortable she seemed in the empty, shabby house.

“One day, a courier brought news that my father’s caravan had been ambushed and he’d been killed.” March started at the blunt confession, but Lacey barrelled on as if she couldn’t afford to stop. “My brother said he’d take our father’s place, and we thought he had. He brought home tesserae and took care of us, and I signed up with the Adventurer’s Guild the day I turned sixteen. One of my first contracts was to find a bandit encampment just outside of town.”

March felt his stomach turn. He had a feeling he knew where this was going and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Imagine my surprise,” Lacey said with a false lightness, “When I arrived to find my brother?” Her grip on his jacket had tightened, pulling the fabric taught against his shoulders. “He’d never joined the caravaners. He’d been robbing them blind, feeding my mother and I with blood money and food from other families’ tables.”

“Lacey,” March murmured, reaching up to stroke her hair. He thought of the crops she donated to Mistria’s reserves, thought of the apples she handed out to anyone for any reason. Thought of the way she spent every tesserae she had rebuilding a broken town of strangers, and how she hadn’t even bothered to clear her own land but for the resources. “You’re not responsible for your brother’s crimes.”

“And you’re not responsible for your mother’s legacy.”

March felt slapped by the abrupt turn, but he had to grudgingly admit that she’d made her point. Even though he was certain she hadn’t meant to chide him, he felt like a petulant child. He’d spent the last fifteen years single-mindedly chasing recognition, demanding respect from anyone who looked twice, while Lacey had been building a life around undoing mistakes she’d never even made.

He searched for an appropriately contrite response, but was stopped short by a sudden thought that churned uncomfortably in his gut.

“Your mother?”

“Dead.” There was a finality in the single word that did not invite further comment or conversation, so March was especially grateful to hear voices coming closer. Lacey had evidently heard them too, because she lifted herself from March’s chest to stand with her head cocked.

“Hellooooooo?”

“Errol!” Lacey called. She turned to beam at March. “Errol, we’re down here!”

“Lacey, is that you?”

“Yes, and March is with me! The floor caved in and we’re stuck.”

Errol’s footsteps faded, then March could hear him shouting from the entrance of the mines. “Olric! I told you I heard voices!”

“Bro?” March nearly sagged in relief, hearing his brother’s voice. “Lacey? Are you down there?”

“We're here, Olric!” March called. “Both of us!”

“Hang tight,” called Olric. “We're coming to get you!”

Lacey turned to grin at March, but her gaze drifted over his shoulder. With a shocked expression, she turned back to the collapsed floor and dug for a brief moment before raising her pack with a triumphant shout. She pulled out her pickaxe and strode past March like a woman on a mission. He turned when he heard the axe strike ore, gaping at the vein of gold she’d discovered.

March liked to say that his swing was poetry in motion–some cheesy thing he’d told Olric when they were kids that had grown with his confidence. He stared, transfixed, as Lacey raised her pickaxe.

If his swing was poetry, Lacey’s was the whole play. In all this time, he’d hardly gotten to watch her work. There was a graceful strength to her motions, a full-body follow-through that made his blood heat in awe and… sometime else.

Minutes too late, standing half-frozen in a dark cave, watching the woman who’d come to rescue him when he’d given her no reason to want to, it finally hit him.

He had feelings for her. Of course, he had feelings for her. And who wouldn’t? Why hadn’t he realized it earlier? Was he truly so wrapped up in his childish need for fame that he couldn’t see what was right in front of him?

Too soon, Lacey knelt to collect the ore she’d mined and swept it into her bag. She stood, brushing herself off, and offered him the bag with a wide smile that seemed more open than any smile she’d given him yet. His heart raced.

“You’re my best friend, too,” he blurted. The words burned in the back of his throat, but he was determined now to live up to them, to surpass them. To convince her to feel the way about him that he felt about her. “I'm sorry that I've been such a jerk... and that I gave you such a hard time when you first moved to Mistria.”

Lacey’s smile softened. She reached out to lay her hand on his uninjured arm, squeezing lightly. “You were a jerk, but… I forgive you, March.” Her playful smile made his heart kick between his ribs.

“I’ll earn it,” he vowed earnestly, and Lacey stared up at him with luminous eyes.

“Okay Olric,” Errol called. He appeared at the top of the ledge, smiling down at them. “Time to lower the ladder. Let's get these two home!”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Not working was one of the hardest things March had ever done. He was relegated to manning the counter, watching as Lacey and Olric took turns swinging a hammer. It made him antsy, but Lacey insisted, going so far as to push him down with a firm hand on his chest.

He needed to sit down after that, anyway.

But Valen said the arm was healing well, and that he’d be working again by the end of winter. So as the days got cooler and shorter, he let himself be pushed around his own forge by a five foot nothing, purple-haired pixie of a girl as his brother watched and laughed, on the condition that she kept her mining excursions short.

“I can only sit by doing nothing for so long, Lacey. If you don’t want me to swing a hammer, you’re going to have to be here to stop me.”

She’d fumed at that. “And what if you hurt yourself more?”

March had shrugged. “High pain tolerance?” She’d hit him. “Ow!”

“That’s what I thought.”

But she kept her mining days short, loading the shop with copper and the occasional drop of iron.

On Saturdays, for the first time since taking over, March closed the shop. He and Lacey would meet at Darcy’s stall, where he’d buy them hot chocolates. Lacey would complain, saying she could buy her own, and March would list whatever project she was funding at the time. First it was expanding the general store, then it was rebuilding another bridge. Then Hayden needed a new barn, and March convinced Lacey to upgrade her own. After all, he helped her take care of the animals, these days. Collecting eggs and filling feed troughs only took one good arm, and he hadn’t had to make any nails in weeks. It was the least he could do.

The subject of today’s argument was another cow.

“I need six thousand tesserae if I want to help renovate the inn, March. I can’t buy any more animals.”

“Or,” he countered, “you could buy the cow now and pay for the inn with what you make from selling milk.”

She grimaced at him. “I don’t know if I can grow enough to feed another cow.”

“Woman, I cleared you more than enough space.” He ruffled her hair affectionately. “C’mon, I'll even help you plant.”

“March, you’re already doing enough. You’re a blacksmith and I’m supposed to be the farmer.”

March was transported back to that first day in her barn, when the roles had been reversed and she’d been the one unable to do her work.

He only hesitated for a heartbeat before speaking. “Maybe farming is growing on me.” Lacey stared up at him and March felt himself blushing under her scrutiny. He held her gaze, though, hoping she understood the poorly hidden meaning behind the seemingly innocent words.

Lacey opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by a shout of her name. They both turned to see Adeline racing toward them, brown skin dark with exertion.

“Lacey, something’s happened. Balor was ambushed at the bridge.”

Lacey’s spine straightened. “Ambushed? Is he okay?”

Adeline nodded quickly. “He’s with Valen. He’s not hurt badly, but bandits stopped him. His cart was ransacked. I… I’m worried about the other vendors.”

Lacey was already moving, shoving her hot chocolate at March, who clumsily tried to keep it upright against his chest. “I have to get my sword, I’ll be right back. Keep everyone in the square!”

March’s heart pounded against his ribcage. “Adeline?” he asked.

“I don’t know, March.” She was flustered, clearly nervous. “Would… would you get Olric and Errol, please? And Hayden?”

March nodded, already moving toward Merri’s stall.

He met Ryis halfway, walking the other direction.

“March, hey! Where’s Lacey? I think a bird moved into our tree!”

“Have you seen Errol? And Hayden?” He could see his brother chatting to Eiland by Merri’s stall.

Ryis didn’t bat an eye at the lack of greeting, only turned to walk alongside his friend. “Errol bought a chair from Merri, he’s taking it home. I haven’t seen Hayden, but I know he’s expecting a new calf soon.” March swore under his breath. Ryis stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. “March,” he said calmly. “What’s going on?”

“Balor got ambushed by bandits at the bridge. Lacey’s going to deal with them.”

Ryis’s hand tightened around March’s shoulder. “She’s gonna be okay, March. She used to do this all the time.”

“I know,” March said, and he did. That didn’t stop anxiety from knotting his stomach, though. “Go get Errol, and check in with Hayden. Please,” he added. Ryis nodded, already spinning on his heel and running.

March jogged toward his brother, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Olric!” Olric turned with a smile, but grew serious at March’s expression.

“What’s going on, bro? Where’s Lacey?”

“There are bandits. Lacey went to deal with them. C’mon, we gotta go help her.”

Olric straightened up, following March as he stormed toward the shop. “I’ll go, March, but you can’t.”

“Like hell,” March growled.

“No, bro, you can’t. You can’t use a sword. What are you gonna do?”

“Intimidate them.”

Olric laughed. “Alright, fine. But you stay back, you hear me? Errol’s taking a chair home, but I’ll go get him and we’ll take care of this.”

They’d reached the shop, and March flung open the door. “Ryis already went for Errol.”

“Even better!” Olric pushed past him, pulling two swords from the display tables and holding one out to March, who hadn’t realized he was still holding the hot chocolates. He put them on the table, barely even considering the rings the cups might leave on the wood, and took the sword from Olric’s hands. “Y’know, March, you really should tell her how you feel.”

March stopped moving, stunned into inaction. “What?”

Olric didn’t stop, striding purposefully on. “I know you know I’m not stupid,” he said lightly. March shook himself and dashed to get through the shop door before it swung shut. “And I know that you’re not as grumpy as you like to pretend you are. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Wouldn’t notice?” March asked dumbly.

“You, fawning all over her!” Olric actually sounded exasperated, and March realized how lucky he was to have someone who loved him enough to put up with his mood swings and constant need to prove himself without complaint. “Just tell her how you feel, man.”

They were passing the bathhouse, almost in sight of the bridge into town. “You really think this is the best time to have this conversation?”

“Yes,” Olric said cheerfully.

March huffed a laugh. “She says we’re friends.”

“The way she looks at you says she wants to be more than friends, little bro.”

And somehow, hearing it from Olric, March could see it. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, I’ll tell her.”

“Awesome! She’s gonna–”

Olric cut himself off as the bridge came into view. Balor’s cart lay, tipped on its side, against the stone siding. Two men hoisted sacks from it onto their own cart, not even noticing Olric and March’s approach. Lacey was nowhere in sight.

One of the bandits looked up, laying eyes on March and Olric.

“Oi!” He shouted mockingly. “Can we help you?’

“You can put back what you stole.” Olric’s voice was cheery as ever, but March could hear the tightness in it.

“Now, now,” said the other man, straightening and stepping forward. “No need for anyone to get ‘urt.”

“No there’s not.” Lacey’s clear voice rang out and March’s body flooded with relief. “Now turn around, leave the shipments, and go.”

She strode forward without looking at him, or at Olric, and March’s breath caught in his chest. She looked regal and dauntless, in a polished gold breastplate. March knew she used a copper sword she’d forged herself when she went to the mines, but the sword she held now was shining gold that glinted in the sunlight. She held it loosely, as if it weighed nothing, but he knew his ore. It had to be more than twice as heavy as the flimsy sword she used to fight monsters.

The bandits eyed her warily. “Look, we ain’t looking for any trouble,” said the nervous looking man.

“And yet you’ve found it,” she said. Her voice was low and dangerous, smooth as ice before it splintered beneath your feet. March had insisted on coming along to intimidate the enemy, but that had been silly. Lacey was the most intimidating person he’d ever seen. It made his blood sing and his body hot, skin too tight.

“You,” growled the bolder of the two. His hand clenched around his sword hilt as he took a step forward. His companion shifted anxiously, eyes darting back and forth.

“Oh, I wouldn’t, Niles,” Lacey sang, low and vicious.

Niles sneered. “I would.” He charged, raising his sword high and bellowing. His companion followed, but it was clear he’d rather be anywhere else.

Everything happened very fast.

March lunged, trying to put himself between Lacey and the bandits. Olric thrust his arm out, barring his brother’s path and nearly knocking him down. And Lacey?

Lacey stepped into the assault, raising her blade with a calm, precise motion so powerful that it severed the man’s head clean from his shoulders.

March took in a hard breath. The man’s companion stumbled back, as though the blow had hit him instead, and fell to the ground. He thrust up a hand, as if to protect himself, but Lacey only stared down at him coldly.

“Who do you work for?” she asked. Her voice was flat and emotionless. March had never heard her sound like this. The man in the dirt sputtered and tried to speak, but couldn’t tear his eyes from his dead friend.

“Who do you work for!?” Lacey roared, advancing on him with her sword raised.

March almost wanted to intervene, almost, but a bolt came whistling out of the trees before any of them could move. It punched through Lacey’s breastplate, sending her flying backward. She went down with a grunt of pain.

March ducked under Olric’s arm, sprinting forward with his heart in his throat. Olric was shouting as several more men emerged from the trees on the far side of the bridge, but March couldn’t hear it over the pounding of blood in his ears. Someone was screaming Lacey’s name as she struggled to rise. Voices erupted in his ears the moment he saw that she was alive, and only then did he realize that the one screaming for her was him.

He got to her at the same time as a man who’d come running from across the bridge. Without allowing himself to stop and think, he raised his sword to block the man’s downward stroke. His sword was pushed down with the force of the blow, inches from Lacey’s torso as she struggled to pull herself back, and pain shot from his hands up through the still-healing break in his arm. He shoved forward, driving his shoulder into the larger man’s neck and swinging wildly around in an effort to put some space between them. He planted himself squarely in the man’s path, determined to protect Lacey as best as he could.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Olric had advanced toward the bridge, shoulder to shoulder with Errol, who held up a wooden shield. Suddenly Ryis was there, dragging Lacey to her feet. She staggered forward despite his protests, moving to step in front of March. He reached out to shove her behind him when a frantic voice called from the bridge.

“Stop! Stop fighting!”

Lacey let out a sobbing sound, and March’s head inadvertently turned to her. She looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

“Lacey?” the voice asked, sounding half broken. March’s head whipped in its direction to lay eyes on a man with dark, amethyst hair and piercing blue eyes.

He had a sinking feeling he knew exactly who this was.

“Lance.” Lacey’s voice came out half choked. “Never did go straight, I see.”

Lance, at least, had the decency to look uncomfortable. “Sure didn’t.” His eyes flitted to the man still holding his sword out toward March. “Andrew, I said stop fighting!”

“She killed Niles.”

“Niles charged at me with his sword raised,” Lacey spat. All her calm coolness had evaporated at the sight of her brother. She was shaking in March’s grip.

“It’s t-true, L-lord,” the nervous man stuttered. He began to weep softly. “He shouldn't've done it.”

Lance turned his face, unwilling or unable to look at his sister. “He always did hate you.”

“Getting someone locked up tends to do that.”

No one said anything. Errol and Olric stood unmoving; Ryis shifted nervously; March clutched his sword as Andrew took cautious steps back.

“Lacey,” he said. He sounded hesitant, apologetic. “I didn’t know you’d landed here.”

“Oh, well that makes me feel better about you robbing people. If you didn’t know I was here–”

“Don’t be such a child, we’ve discussed this!”

“And you told me you were going to find real work and stop terrorizing traders!”

“Well there’s no money in honest work!”

“Who cares!?” Lacey’s voice broke. She made to step around March, but he refused to let go of her wrist. The bolt she’d been shot with still protruded from her waist, dripping blood onto the ground. Lance’s eyes seemed to lock on it. “We had nothing, and we were happy. What changed?”

Lance, still fixated on the growing puddle of blood, shook his head slowly. “I was never happy.”

Lacey spat, viciously, nearly wrenching herself from March’s grip. “I used to dream of being just like you when I got older. Was everything a lie?”

“Not everything.” Finally, he looked up. He looked so like his sister that March felt his stomach turn, unable to reconcile her selflessness with this man. “I’m sorry about mama.”

Finally, Lacey’s fury seemed to flag. She began to sag forward, and March dropped his sword in an effort to keep her upright. Lance watched her for another long minute before directing his attention to March.

“She’s special,” he began.

“We,” snapped March, “already know that.”

Lance nodded once, sharply, and turned. “Then you’d better take good care of her.”

“Get back here,” Lacey called weakly. “You coward. Fight me. This ends, here and now!”

Lance let out a humorless chuckle. “Yes,” he murmured. “It does. Don’t worry, you won’t see me again.” Then with a wave of his hand, his men began a hasty retreat.

“No,” Lacey whispered. She tried to pull herself up, but stumbled. March made the decision he’d been waffling over and swung her up into his arms. “March,” she pleaded.

“Leave the cart!” Lance called. Errol and Olric stepped aside to let Andrew and his nervous companion lift Niles’ body, carrying it across the bridge.

“March, let me go,” Lacey whimpered.

“Never.” She stared up at him with eyes brimming with tears as his cheeks flamed.

“Balor’s cart…”

“Olric and Errol and Ryis can get it.” And indeed, the three men were already loading cartons and chests, cautiously watching Lance’s retreat.

March set off toward town as Lacey’s blood dripped between his fingers. She twisted in his arms, trying to keep her eyes on her brother.

“March, someone’s got to stop him. He’s going to hurt someone.”

“Someone will stop him.”

“It should be me!”

“No, Lacey, you’re hurt. We have to get you to Valen.”

She tried to wriggle free. “Let me go, March!”

“I can’t!” he shouted. He took a deep breath in when her body froze its movements. “I can’t.”

He waited for her to say something to that, to yell and demand again that he let her go, or to question what the hell he meant by it. She didn’t. She simply slumped in his arms, sobbing into his chest as he quickened his steps back into town. He found himself clutching her closer as her crying died down, making way for gasping breaths.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, feeling rather stupid.

“Yes,” she wheezed. Her voice sounded dull, devoid of life. He began to jog, pausing only to send Hayden on to help the others when the big man found them.

“My cow–” he began.

“It’s fine, Hayden. Ryis is going to need your help.”

Hayden’s kind face nearly folded in on itself when he saw the state Lacey was in. “Is she–?”

“I’ve got her.”

She seemed on the border of consciousness by the time March walked up Valen’s steps and shouldered through the door, depositing Lacey on one of the beds while he shouted for the doctor. As he pulled back, Lacey clutched at his arms.

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered, glassy-eyed with pain.

March dropped to his knees at the bedside, clutching her hands in his. “Never.”

“Then you can help me get this armor off her.” Valen was clinical and quick, dragging Lacey into a sitting position. “Hold her up.”

March leapt to his feet, wrapping his arms around Lacey to keep her upright as Valen examined the shaft still embedded in the metal. Valen stepped away, returning with what looked like a great pair of scissors.

“Hold her still,” she said. March clambered onto the bed, sliding to sit behind Lacey and bracketing her with his legs. He nodded at Valen, who used the scissors to cut the bolt at the surface of the breastplate. Then she grasped the edge of the armor from around Lacey’s hips and began to push it up. March was forced to hold Lacey up by her arms while Valen worked the metal free.

Lacey, who had been nearly silent to this point, moaned in pain. March tightened his hold on her. “You’re doing good, you’re okay. Everything is okay.“

Valen glared at him, but she was able to lift the heavy plate over Lacey’s head. She pulled out a smaller pair of scissors and, to March’s astonishment, sliced through Lacey‘s shirt in one clean cut. Despite the arguably dire circumstances, March found that he had to look away.

Valen examined the wound before looking up to meet March’s gaze.

“How are you with blood?” she asked.

March swallowed. “I’m alright.”

“Good.” Valen turned her attention to Lacey as she poured a vial into a handkerchief. “I would like for you to take a nap.”

“Whatever you say, doc,” Lacey said weakly. All the color had drained from her face with the effort of removing her armor.

Valen shoved the handkerchief into March’s hand. “Keep that over her mouth and nose.”

March looked down, relieved when Lacey seemed to relax back against him. “Ready for that nap?” he asked. Lacey only nodded, eyes already shut. He raised the handkerchief to cover her mouth and nose as instructed, only for her to look up. She watched him intently until her lids began to droop. Valen had washed her hands again and stood, watching, as Lacey slipped into unconsciousness.

“What is this?” March asked. He’d never seen Lacey so still. He hated it.

“A little mixture I concocted to simulate sleep. They use something similar in the Capital, but it requires an injection. I prefer a less invasive method.”

March swallowed, mouth dry, as he stared. Lacey’s lashes were long enough to brush her cheeks, but he could still see dark circles beneath them. He noticed, for the first time, a thin scar that ran along her temple and down the side of her neck. He followed it until he realized his attention was dangerously close to her mostly-bare torso. He snapped his gaze up.

That was a mistake, because Valen was making an incision alongside the wound.

March tried and failed to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. “What are you doing?” he managed.

Valen didn’t spare him a glance. “If I pull the bolt straight out, it’ll tear through the flesh.”

It wasn’t a direct answer, not exactly, but March understood. He watched, transfixed by awe and horror, as Valen smoothly removed the bolt. Her capable hands made quick work of cleaning the wound and stitching it back together.

“You can remove the cloth.”

March looked down, studying Lacey’s face for any trace of pain before lifting his hand. He saw nothing, and her mouth was parted slightly when the handkerchief no longer covered it. He reached up, tracing a finger along her cupid’s bow. He couldn’t pry his eyes away from that tiny expanse of smooth skin.

“March.”

His head snapped up. “What?” He got the feeling Valen had been trying to get his attention for some time. She stood by the bedside, holding her hands out to take Lacey’s weight. He moved her forward as carefully as he could, sliding out from behind her. His knee was numb from staying locked in position, nearly buckling under his weight as he planted his feet.

Valen laid Lacey back, reaching around her to prop the pillows under her head. She unstoppered the vial she’d used, pouring more into another handkerchief that she lay across Lacey’s face.

“Go home, March. I’ll stay with her.”

March shook his head, even though Valen’s back was turned. “I told her I’d stay.”

“You’re filthy.” He looked down at himself then, the blood soaking his blue sweater and the scuffs on his leather boots. “I know for a fact you haven’t eaten anything today.” He thought of his hot chocolate, abandoned on the shop counter. Valen rested a hand on his shoulder. “Go home, March. Have a bath, have something to eat. You should try to get some sleep, but if you’re serious about being here, you can sleep in the other bed.” March nodded, unable to speak. Valen squeezed his shoulder. “I won’t leave her.”

Somehow, he got back to the shop, stripping out of his blood-soaked clothes before cramming himself into the tiny shower in their bathroom. He watched as pink water flooded the drain, staring down until it ran clear. He scrubbed himself raw, then simply stood under the spray until it ran cold. Mechanically, he changed into fresh clothes before walking to the inn.

He’d barely settled on a stool before Hemlock planted a pint on the countertop before him, followed by a steaming bowl of soup. March murmured his thanks, grateful when Hemlock withdrew to the kitchen rather than asking questions.

Questions were for Josephine, and she started in the moment she saw him at the bar.

“How’s our girl?”

“She killed someone, Jo.” He hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t even really processed the words in his mind before they spilled out of his mouth, but now they had. And it was as if they’d opened a floodgate. He began to shake so badly that he had to lay down his spoon, lest it vibrate against the bowl.

“Olric said that man probably would have killed her.”

March squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to consider that possibility. “He would have.”

“Then be grateful that he didn’t, and don’t worry about the rest.”

It was just like Josephine to have perfect and practical life advice, but it still stunned March into opening his eyes. “Don’t worry about the rest?” he asked incredulously. “Jo, she killed a man.”

Josephine leaned over the bar to clasp his hands in hers. March was reminded of how she’d watched him as a child, mothering him only when she could sense he truly needed it. “Do you know why you should never meet your heroes, dear?”

“Why?”

“Because they’re only human.” Only Josephine’s grip on his hands kept him upright. “Capital life is different, sweetheart. We’re very lucky here. Mistria is a haven, and I’m grateful that you’ve never had to see violence and corruption. But you have to realize that Lacey has seen the way the rest of the world is. I think she’s shown us that we can trust her. If she thought that man was a threat, well, that’s good enough for me.

March sat with that for a long time. Josephine stayed, keeping hold of one of his hands, but raised the other to stroke it through his damp hair so tenderly that he wanted to crawl into her lap like he had when he was a child.

“She’s hurt bad, Jo,” he finally managed. The words felt dragged out of him. After fighting it for hours, he couldn’t run from the fear any longer. He could lose her, here and now, and she could be gone without ever leaving.

“She’s a strong girl, March.” She finally let go of his hand, laying her palms flat against his cheeks. She shook his head lightly, lowering her head to look him straight in the eye. “She’ll be just fine.” March nodded, swallowing hard. He’d been drawn here for a reason. Josephine always knew just what to say, and just how to say it to him.

“Thanks, Jo.”

“Of course, m’boy.” She patted his cheeks. “Are you going back to the clinic?”

“I should go feed her animals.”

“No need,” piped Hemlock. He’d materialized behind March, and laid a hearty slap across his shoulders. “Hayden came by and said he’d take them back to his place. Said he’d water the crops until she’s feeling better, too.”

March sighed in relief. “Then I guess I’m going back to the clinic.”

“Take this with you, dear.” Josephine laid a steaming container on the countertop. “Some soup for Valen. And you let her know she can come get me if she needs anything at all.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

March slept fitfully, tossing and turning in the narrow clinic bed. Each time Lacey shifted, he’d snap awake to watch her, too anxious to do more than doze.

She cried in her sleep.

She called for her brother, murmured about their mother.

She said his name.

He’d asked Valen about her miracle tonic earlier in the night, only to receive a sad smile.

“Lacey’s helping me work on it, ironically. But… it’s all gone. Until we can crack the recipe, that is.”

Not that Valen needed the Panacea. She’d always been a phenomenal doctor.

The quiet left March too much time to think, to worry. What if Lacey didn’t wake up? That was ridiculous, he knew it was. What if she was angry at him for taking her away from her brother? Just as ridiculous, he was certain.

What wasn’t ridiculous, he knew, was thinking that she’d confront him over his outright refusal to leave her. “I can’t,” he’d said. That, she’d want to know about. And what was he supposed to tell her? I’ve been picking fights with you because I never actually grew up and learned how to have a crush? I didn’t know how to handle the way you made me feel so I pushed you away instead? I know I’ve been an asshole but I think it’s because I’m in love with you and I couldn’t figure that out?

Yeah, no.

He’d just have to come up with something believable. Maybe he could yell at her. He hadn’t for awhile, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. He tossed and turned, going over reasonable things to yell about.

That was reckless. You could have been hurt. Where would I get my ore? Who would take care of your animals? It all seemed quite unimportant.

“March?”

He nearly fell in his mad scramble to get up and across the space to Lacey’s bed.

“Lacey? Oh thank goodness, I was so worried.” So much for yelling.

She laughed weakly, then coughed. He could just make out her grimace in the dark.

“You’re still here.”

“I told you I couldn’t leave you.” Damnit. Two sentences in and he’d blown them both. “What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, reaching for whatever anger he could muster to mask the concern in his voice.

He didn’t expect Lacey to fight him, not really, and she didn’t. She only sighed, shifting with a wince. He reached around her, helping to prop her up.

“I’ll go get Valen.”

“No.” Her hand shot out to wrap around his wrist. “No, just… stay here. With me.”

“Lacey…”

“Please.” And so he sat. On the edge of the bed, because Lacey’s cold fingers still ringed his wrist.

“You’re freezing cold,” he said, unintentionally echoing her words to him from months earlier.

She clearly recognized the same thing, because she huffed out a laugh. “Not quite freezing.” March pried her fingers apart, tucking them between his palms to rub them together. Lacey murmured thanks, eyes sliding shut. “That feels nice.”

He ran with that, turning her hands until he could knead his thumbs into her palms. She let out a soft noise of contentment that went straight to his head, so he slid his hands further up to massage her wrists. He wondered if it felt as good to her as he imagined it would to him. Working the forge was taxing. His hands ached often, and his back felt sore more days than not. He figured all of the farming and mining she did felt the same, not to mention the sword she’d carried earlier.

“March.”

“Hm?”

“Someone’s got to stop him.”

“Someone will.”

“March.”

“He’s not your responsibility, Lacey.”

“He’s my brother.”

“Yeah, your brother. Not you.” He leaned over to bat a stray lock of hair back from her cheek. “Besides, Adeline’s going to send a letter to the Capital.”

Lacey’s cheeks had flushed slightly beneath his touch. “She is?”

He nodded. “I… I did leave, for a little bit. Valen wanted me to go home,” he said. He still felt guilty, but Lacey only nodded back. “Everyone sends their best wishes. And Adeline had Balor take a note straight to her father in the Capital.”

“March, I…” She fiddled with his fingers. “I have to stop him. I know you don’t think he’s my responsibility, but–”

“You can’t leave.” His voice came out far more desperate, far more pleading than he’d intended it to. Lacey’s blue eyes flew up to his. Two for two, might as well hit the home run. “You can’t just come here and change everything and make me care about you and then just leave. You promised you were going to stay.”

Lacey opened her mouth to answer, but March cut her off. “And I don’t want to be your best friend.” Her mouth snapped shut. Even in the dark room, he could see tears spring into her eyes. “I've been wanting to tell you since the Shooting Star Festival… that I'm sorry. The truth is I-I…” He took a deep breath. “I want to be with you, Lacey.”

“You…” she said on a breath. Then, against all odds, she laughed. “You want to be with me?”

He summoned the courage to wipe the tears from under her lids with his thumbs. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“I mean… I thought you were still just. Tolerating me, I guess?”

He huffed a laugh. “I… you scare me. You scare the hell out of me. And I thought I could keep you at arm’s length so you couldn’t, but you just… you got under my skin.”

“It’s warm there,” she murmured, and March barked a laugh.

He smothered it quickly, both of them watching the staircase. When Valen didn’t appear, he turned his attention back to her. Any hope of her returned affections seemed distant, but he chose to bury that for the moment. Or for forever.

He thought of her wound, instead. “Does it hurt?” Asking again felt just as stupid as it had the first time.

She shrugged. “Only a little.”

“Let me go get Valen,” March said, but he didn’t move.

Lacey shook her head. “Would you just… would you stay with me?” she whispered.

And so, with great care and a drumming heart, he crawled up the bed, carefully laying to face her with one hand propping up his head. Lacey turned onto her side with a wince and clutched at the front of his sweater. He had forgone an undershirt in his daze, and so could feel her nails through the fabric. He did his best to suppress a shudder, but Lacey’s sharp eyes caught his.

He felt drawn in, sucked down to the marrow by that penetrating stare, as if she was cutting through everything he pretended to be to flay his real self wide open. His heart kicked up again in his chest, even though he was almost certain that she felt nothing for him. Even though they were just laying, watching each other. Any hopes that she wouldn’t notice were squashed when she flattened a palm over the offending organ.

He glanced down at her lips, which was a mistake, because he couldn’t tear his eyes away again. She bit her lip as he watched, rolling it between her teeth, before curling her fingers against his chest.

“It’s been… a long day,” she said shakily. “A lot has happened. I need… I need a little time.”

March blinked. His traitorous heart paused its drumming before kicking up even more frantically. “O-of course,” he said. “Take as much time as you need.”

She smiled, lips curling up at the corners to reveal dimples, and he still couldn’t tear his gaze away. In his peripheral vision, he could tell she’d closed her eyes, less from seeing it and more from the absence of the sea-deep blue.

She tugged on his sweater, pulling him closer, and he held his breath. “You’re so tense,” she whispered.

“Because I really want to kiss you,” he blurted. And, since he was apparently being honest, “And because I could have lost you today. And that scared me. A lot.” She opened her eyes and he finally looked up, only to drown. When she’d pulled him closer, the arm not propping his head up had fallen awkwardly between them. He wrapped it around her waist tentatively, not daring to be as bold as her and pull her closer. She did that for him, nuzzling under his chin so that her lips brushed his throat and her breath raised goosebumps across his skin.

“I think I’d like for you to kiss me,” she murmured.

He choked on nothing, whole body going taut at the admission.

“But not tonight,” she amended, sounding almost apologetic. “I just… I need–”

“Time.” His voice sounded strangled. “You have time.”

“You’re not gonna push me away again? Run away from me?”

He scoffed, but it was strained. “I think it’s a little late for that, don’t you?”

She hummed, and the vibration against his pulse sent bolts of electric desire shooting through his veins until his whole body was alive with it.

“Maybe,” she said sleepily. “Maybe not. Never can tell with you.”

He tightened his hold, just a bit. “I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will.”

He said nothing to that, waiting until her breaths evened out before forcing himself to relax. He tried to breathe deeply, tried to let himself drift away, but he couldn’t. Not here, not with her in his arms, not knowing that this could be the only time he ever got this. Not with her lips pressed to the underside of his jaw, right against nerves he hadn’t known existed. Not with her hands pressed to his chest, small but strong, keeping him close to her. Not with her body pressed to his in all the right places. He curled around her instinctively, a protective shell with a precious inhabitant. He focused his breaths, trying to memorize the unique scent of metal and dirt and dried apples that clung to her, just in case he never got to be this close again.

Valen found them like that, Lacey clinging to his shirtfront and his arms holding her tucked to his chest, and he couldn’t bring himself to move even then. He waited for her to tease him, to poke and prod, but she didn’t. Only smiled and stepped out into bright sunlight while he stared at the ceiling, torn between hope and crushing closure.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Crushing closure was certainly winning by the end of the week. Lacey had been trapped at Valen’s, unnecessarily, through her eyes, for two more days. She’d sent March home, and so he’d gone. He lay awake those nights, unable to sleep for the hollow space between his arms, and it showed in his work. He broke nails and had to shape and reshape copper tools, had to melt down a breastplate he’d hammered too thin and altogether scrap a helmet he’d scuffed beyond repair.

Olric attributed it to his long break, the first he’d ever taken, and March didn’t bother to correct him. He just took extra care with the gold he melted down to repair Lacey’s punctured breastplate.

Lacey wasn’t in the mines, on Valen’s orders, so he saw her only in the evenings at the inn. He watched as she handed off crops and animal produce, butter and mayonnaise she’d made at the mill, and bugs she’d caught for Luc. He listened as she reassured everyone who worried over her that she was fine, and no, she wasn’t working too hard, and yes, she was taking it easy. Still busy though, even with the light work.

And too busy for him.

He’d scared her off by admitting his feelings for her, and this was exactly why he hadn’t done it before. He’d already known she didn’t feel the same way. Best friends, she’d said.

Despite his best efforts, she’d turned his world inside out. Now, he’d have to carefully cleave it back together while she hovered along the tattered edges, forever just out of reach. The worst part was that she’d been so close that he could taste it, a life by her side. Tending her animals with her, clearing up that disastrous farmyard; her by his side at the forge; watching the stars and drinking hot chocolate for the rest of their lives.

The bitterness on his tongue was tangible, and he couldn’t blame it on Hemlock’s newest beer, no matter how hoppy.

She’d practically asked him not to pull away from her, and now he was the fool waiting for a scrap of her attention, sat watching while she gushed and giggled with every person in the room but him–watching as she flitted from Elsie’s Dragons and Drama campaign to the group discussing the creepy clown painting Balor had found, and then up to the balcony to play charades with the kids.

He tried to be angry. Tried, but couldn’t. He only felt tired.

So he downed the rest of his beer, leaving his dessert untouched, and pushed away from the bar. Josephine gave him a sharp, concerned look, but he waved her off as he turned. Eiland would eat his dessert, and Olric would pay his tab. If he didn’t, well, March would come back to settle up tomorrow. He shouldered through the door, head down to avoid staring at Lacey, and turned into the chill wind to trudge home.

Winter was nearly over, but a fresh snow fell anyway, dissolving into his uncovered hair. He barely felt the cold through the numbness, but the tiny flakes left wet patches on his skin. It seemed that even the weather mocked him for pushing Lacey away, painting tears when he shed none.

The walk was short, and the fire in the hearth still smoldered. He stoked it, knowing Olric would appreciate the gesture when he returned, and kicked off his boots, too drained to bother putting them in their rightful place by his door. He stripped out of his apron and sweater, tossing them into a heap by his chest, before crawling into bed face first. He was too exhausted after a sleepless week to bother with his pants, but he ripped his bandana off and tossed it in the general direction of his desk. He’d deal with it in the morning.

He’d almost fallen asleep, caught in that floating, soft feeling, when his door clicked open.

“What do you want, Olric?“ he muttered into his pillow.

“Oh, March.”

He shot up, twisting to sit staring in disbelief. “H-hey, Lacey…”

She stood pressed against his door, hands behind her back, and he was fairly certain she was blushing. “I-I can come back—”

“No!” He ran a self-conscious hand down his bare chest before deciding there was nothing for it. He dropped the hand to his lap. “What are you doing here?“

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you all week and I just…” She trailed off, seemingly fixed on his naked torso, and March resisted the urge to flex. He was torn between pride and a rare show of modesty. Working the forge kept him in great shape, and Olric was always pestering him to go on walks and runs. He knew he looked good, but had never been one to flaunt it like his brother.

The hungry look in Lacey‘s eye was more than enough to tip the scales, though. He made a mental note to spend some time at the beach this summer, preferably when she was around.

He realized that they were staring at each other and drew on the rush of adrenaline she’d given him to find something snarky to say. “You’ve been busy.” Well, maybe not all that snarky.

Lacey sighed, dropping her face into her hands. “I know, and I know how that must look, and I’m—”

“Look…?“ March held his breath, barely daring to hope.

Lacey peeked at him from between splayed fingers. “You didn’t think I was ignoring you?“

March laughed, shocked for no discernible reason. After all, it was pretty clear by now that she knew him. “Yeah. Yeah, I did think that.”

Lacey groaned, dipping her head back into her hands. March swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“Lacey,” he said.

“What?” she muttered.

“What did you come to say?” She dropped her hands from her face in favor of picking at her nails, but she wouldn’t look at him. His heart sank into his stomach. He dropped his gaze to the floor. “Just say it,” he snapped. She looked up at him, confused. “Just say you don’t want to be more than friends so we can both move on with our lives.”

“That’s all it would take?” And somehow, she sounded hurt. He wanted to say yes, wanted to start building walls again right away; wanted to get her away from him, back where she belonged–and he couldn’t even begin to unpack the way he knew she belonged with him–so that he could fake his disinterest until it became so routine that he didn’t have to think about it any more.

He couldn’t bring himself to lie, so he stayed silent.

“March,” she whispered. There was a soft shuffle of socks on his floor, and then she was reaching out to touch him and his eyes were sliding shut because he couldn’t bear to watch as she handed him back his hard, cracked open heart in her gentle hands. “I don’t want to be your best friend either.”

He did look up, then, and watched as she chewed on her lip. He expected more words, but they didn’t come. “You don’t?” His mouth felt dry, full of cotton just like his ears and the rest of his head.

“No, I… I want to be with you, too.”

He blinked at her.

She blinked back.

He scrubbed his hands down his face and blinked some more.

She chewed her lip again, dropping her eyes to where her hand rested against his elbow.

“What?” he asked.

She cleared her throat, spoke slowly. “I want to be with you, too.”

“Why?” he blurted. “I-I’m grumpy and I work too much, and… and I’m mean, Lacey. I don’t know how to be sweet, and you’re so sweet. To me, even though I don’t deserve it. To everyone.”

She hummed, raising her hand tentatively to his jaw. “Sounds like I’m sweet enough for the both of us. And you’re not mean.” He gave her an unimpressed look and she giggled. “Well, not anymore. Much, at least. Look, I’ve noticed the effort, okay?” She stroked his cheek with light fingertips. He felt every hair on his body raise to meet her touch. His head spun with the turn of events.

“You’re crazy,” he breathed.

“Crazy about you,” she quipped, taking a tiny step forward. He snorted, but raised his hands to her waist. He tugged her forward hard enough that she stumbled, catching herself with hands that trembled on his shoulders. “So,” she whispered, and her voice shook. “How about that kiss?”

He was looking up at her like this, and he thought that was fitting. He reached up to thread his fingers through her hair, wrapping them around her jaw and her neck. “I thought,” he pulled her down until their noses touched, “you’d never ask.”

He leaned up, tilting his head to press a soft kiss to her mouth. Lacey sucked in a deep breath through her nose, freezing for a moment before kissing him softly back.

March wanted to drag her down and devour her, kiss her until her mind was full of him and her lips were bruised. He made himself go slowly, angling her head with a gentle press of his fingertips so he could kiss her again. She was quicker to respond this time, sliding her lips over his before kissing the corner of his mouth. He chased her, nipped at her bottom lip, and shuddered at the soft sound she made. Her fingertips dug into his shoulders. She used that to pull herself closer, forcing him to tilt his head back to keep them connected.

Then her tongue darted out, prodding the seam of his mouth, and the control he hadn’t realized he’d been clinging to snapped with the force of an avalanche. He reached around her, hauling her into his lap and falling back, taking her with him as he went. She squealed in surprise, but he rolled them so that he lay over her and swallowed the sound with a frantic kiss. He licked at her mouth like a rabid dog, desperate to taste her. He hitched her leg up over his hip, letting his weight pin her to the mattress as he settled between her legs.

Her hands slid up his neck, into his hair, and the scratching of her nails against his scalp was almost enough to undo him completely. He kissed her hard, sliding his tongue between her lips and tilting her head with his own. Somehow, she got a hand between them, stroking down his arm and side and up his chest to his neck. The feeling of her hands on his bare skin was nearly enough to drive him over the edge, so he pulled back as much as he could bear. He lifted his body slightly, until only the ghost of her touch remained, and dragged his mouth from hers to leave open-mouthed kisses along her throat.

She gasped, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut against the sound. He had to do something with his mouth before he said something he couldn’t take back. He traced a line down her throat, found himself nuzzling her collarbone in the dip of her shoulder. He bit down gently, sucking as he did.

“March,” Lacey moaned, and he squeezed his eyes shut again to ward off the wave of molten heat that crashed through him at hearing his name like that.

She tried to use her grip on his shoulders and the leg over his hip to lift herself, to press against him, and the arm that was holding him up shook violently.

“Lacey, stop,” he breathed. He almost whined when she froze, body half pressed to his. His hips moved of their own volition, driving her down and making them both gasp at the friction. “If you… we’ve got to stop i-if you–”

“What if I don’t want to stop?” March could swear he blacked out in that moment.

“You don’t want to take this slow?” She ground her hips against his and he did whine. “Slow-er?” His voice shook, and he should hate it, but he didn’t. He loved it, loved that she was the only one who could make him like this. Loved her.

“Do you?” Her voice shook just as badly, and he could practically feel the way his ego puffed up at the sound.

“Not even a little,” he whispered.

She raised her other knee until they bracketed his hips, using unexpected strength to roll until she sat on top of him. March wondered idly if he’d ever been more turned on in his life. She lifted her shirt, tossing it over one shoulder, and his hands went to her waist as though drawn by magnets.

She leaned down until their faces were hidden from the room by a curtain of violet and threaded her fingers through his hair. He groaned at the sensation, and shuddered when her lips touched his earlobe. “Then don’t.”

He was grateful to only be wearing pants, shucking them off while Lacey wiggled off him to get out of her own. He rolled back over her, taking in a sharp breath when their skin touched.

“You sure, Lace?”

She nodded quickly, nearly knocking their heads together in her eagerness. “I’m sure.”

And so he sank into her, swallowing her gasps before being reminded of why he should never, ever be allowed to speak.

“Gods, Lacey,” he groaned against her lips. “I am so,” a kiss, “so,” another, “crazy in love with you.”

He was so gone that he didn’t even realize what he’d said until she laughed, actually laughed between shaky breaths. He stopped moving, dropping his head to her shoulder, cheeks burning.

“Damnit,” he sighed. “I’m sor—” She pulled his head up and kissed him before he could say anything else, drawing a moan from him as she ran her tongue between his lips.

“Don’t you dare apologize, March. Just move.”

And move he did. Slowly at first, to work her up as much as she did him, until she was writhing and panting beneath him, and then fast to chase her over the edge, with their fingers locked together over her head and her name on his lips.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

When Lacey peeled her eyes open, she was momentarily stunned. She was looking at a door that wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, but wasn’t hers, either. Something heavy pinned her to the bed, and there was a warm body behind her. Naked. She was naked. She nearly sat up in alarm before the previous night came flooding back in startling clarity.

“I am so, so crazy in love with you.”

Even without March’s burning eyes on her, she felt molten. Her heart sped, and she worried that it might wake him up. She tried to turn over, but his iron grip only tightened around her, pulling her back against firm muscle and hot skin.

She sighed, half in resignation and half in a daydream. She’d been so worried that he’d have changed his mind, so worried that she’d taken too long to tell him how she felt. She’d come looking for him every day that week, and every day had been thwarted. Cornering him in his bedroom had not been the plan, but the resulting night had more than made up for the build-up of anxiety.

She thought of the way he’d looked up at her before kissing her, a supplicant at a shrine. Thought of the gentle way he’d touched her, careful not to push too far, before careful and gentle went straight out the window in the face of ravenous, all-consuming want.

She’d expected him to need time, expected to have to work up to anything more than fleeting touches and chaste kisses. Pride and guilt welled up in equal measure as she considered how badly he must have been wanting her to break like he did.

Desire pooled as she felt the press of his body against her back; the corded muscles of his arms against her abdomen, keeping their hips pressed firmly together. Her mouth watered at the feeling of him between her thighs, hard and heavy, skin hot enough to burn.

Acting on a rush of reckless desire, she pushed her hips back and squeezed her thighs together. March moaned softly, lowering a hand to her belly to hold her in place.

“Someone didn’t get enough last night.“ His usually low voice was practically gutteral, clogged with morning gravel and lust. His hand trailed lower, slowly, lightly, eliciting a gasp.

“Was it you?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he groaned.

“I had to wake you up.” She shifted around some more, only stopping at his sharp intake of breath as he notched against her. “I needed to tell you something.”

“Hell of a way to wake up,” he breathed, pushing his hips forward. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, too caught up in the feeling of fullness, of togetherness, to shatter the silence. Finally, Lacey rolled her hips. March let out a pained sound, squeezing at her waist to try to slow her movements. “Slow down, slow down,” he whimpered.

“Why?” she whispered over her shoulder.

“I want this to last.” He buried his head in the crook of her neck, breathing uneven. “What did you need to tell me?”

She threaded their fingers together, pulling them around herself. “I,” she rolled her hips, “love,” she pulled away, “you.” She arched her back, moving down again.

March choked against her shoulder, whole body spasming with the confession. His hands slid down, body finally surrendering to the animal instinct to move. “Is that all?” he panted, but the sarcasm was lost in the frantic way they moved together.

“That’s all,” Lacey groaned. March’s hands were all over her, fingers squeezing and stroking and clutching as they both raced for the same prize. “March, I-I’m–”

“I know,” he groaned. “I know. Gods, I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you,” Lacey moaned, and then she was falling apart all over again.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The knock at Lacey’s door startled her awake. March groaned, but she swatted his arm until he let her go.

“‘S too early,” he groused. “Tell whoever it is to go away.”

She glanced at the clock hung beside the fireplace. “It’s almost ten, March.” He rolled over, grumbling into the pillow.

Lacey smiled, smoothing down her hair and pulling on March’s discarded t-shirt along with her underwear before padding to the door. She half hid behind it until Adeline smiled at her.

“Hey, Addy,” Lacey greeted. The other girl was smiling, but it looked strained. Lacey stepped out from behind the door. “What’s the matter?”

Adeline’s gaze darted to the back corner of the room, where March and the bed were hidden behind a screen Lacey had bought from Merri. In fact, she’d bought several pieces from Merri recently, and at March’s insistence–a beautiful oak coffee table with a matching dresser, a thick rug, and a dining set she and Ryis had built and had Merri paint–and all of them blocked Adeline’s view. Which wasn’t to say she didn’t already know whose shirt Lacey was wearing. She and March had agreed to keep their new relationship as quiet as possible for as long as possible, but the townsfolk weren’t stupid and the two of them weren’t particularly subtle.

Lacey was half lost in a memory of the most recent Friday Night at the Inn, drinking at the bar with March under Hemlock’s watchful eye rather than playing Dragons and Drama or cards, and shivering in delight when he kept drunkenly pulling her stool closer to his.

“March, you’re going to get us caught,” she said when he tried to kiss her. “Everyone will see.”

“Let ‘em see,” he slurred, smiling dopily. “I love you.”

She blinked back to the present when Adeline cleared her throat nervously. “C’mon, Addy. Out with it.” Her friend’s hesitance was making her nervous. “What’s the matter?”

“Well,” Adeline began. “Nothing, I think. In fact, I think I’m bringing good news.” Lacey finally looked down, tracing the way Adeline’s fingers spun an envelope anxiously before holding it out to her. She stared at it. “It’s from the Capital,” Adeline said softly. Lacey’s stomach lurched.

“The Capital?” There was a shuffling sound behind her, and then March reached over her shoulder to take the envelope from Adeline’s hands. He wrapped one arm around her waist, offering her the envelope with the other. She shook her head. “Would you… would you open it for me?”

“Alright.” With quick, precise movements, he slid a finger beneath the seal and tore it open. He pulled out a cream-colored document, scanning the missive before meeting Lacey’s gaze. “Your brother’s left Aldaria,” he said simply.

Lacey’s breath caught in her throat.

“My father, Baron Wiscar–” Adeline cut herself off abruptly. “I asked him to look into this personally. As a favor.” Lacey nodded numbly. Adeline reached out a hand to squeeze Lacey’s arm. “They followed your brother to the edge of the kingdom, but it appears he’s sought refuge in the Caldosian Empire. He’s joined their Adventurer’s Guild. And… by all accounts, he’s been doing good work.”

Lacey nodded. “Okay,” she said. Adeline watched her, waiting for more, and then looked up at March.

“Thanks, Adeline,” he said. She nodded at him, squeezing Lacey’s arm again and offering a smile before turning to go.

“Thank you, Addy,” Lacey said.

Adeline beamed over her shoulder. “It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for us. You’re family, Lacey.”

March shut the door as she descended the steps, turning to face Lacey. She focused on the flex of his biceps as he crossed his arms; the cords of muscles in his forearms and his strong, wide palms; the broad expanse of his bare chest and the swell of his pecs and the lean line of his waist.

He put a stop to that by clasping her shoulders lightly. “Lace?”

“He’s gone,” she said mechanically.

“And he joined an Adventurer’s Guild.” He watched her, sharp and guarded. “How do you feel?”

She took in a deep breath, trying to catalogue that for herself. She found herself looking up into his black eyes, thinking of how far he’d come in such a short time. Where before he might have suppressed every feeling no matter the cost, now, he made great efforts to be open with her, to let her in and, more than that, to invite her. She felt tears of gratitude welling up before she could tamp them down. March looked alarmed.

“I feel relieved,” she blurted out. He only watched her, never pushing her to speak if she wasn’t ready. “I feel relieved,” she repeated. She reached up to wipe the tears away, but March’s thumbs were already there, tenderly stroking the skin beneath her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She launched herself forward, wrapping her arms around his waist.

March grunted, then chuckled. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he murmured. He kissed the crown of her head, stroked her back, and rocked her from side to side. They stayed like that for what felt like hours, and then he pulled her away by her arms. “Let’s get some food in you.” He watched her carefully, only relaxing when she smiled up at him. Then, he winked. “You’re gonna need the energy.”

Lacey gasped, swatting at his arm as he darted out of reach. Her heart swelled as she watched him collect ingredients, meticulously measuring each item before combining them in a pan on the stove.

That man learned to cook for you, she thought to herself.

“Sounds to me like your brother might be trying to be a little more like you.” He sounded pleased, maybe even a little proud. “Think he could turn things around?”

She chewed on her lip. “I don’t know.” She scuffed the wood floor with her socked foot. “Maybe.”

“Well,” March hummed, voice warm. “He’s got the best role model. I have high hopes.”

Lacey’s heart swelled, watching him move around the space he’d helped to decorate and fill. “Hey,” she called. He turned, raising a dark brow until it disappeared beneath his fiery hair. “I love you.”

His lips spread wide in a happy smile, lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes, and Lacey’s heart skipped just like it always did. “I love you, too.”