Finn looked up from his plate. “Is there a problem with the arrangements?”
“You sound like Aldric.” Darragh’s voice was gentle, but his eyes were worried. “I can’t even remember the last time you told me about something other than summit logistics.”
“The summit is important.”
“I know it’s important. But you’re important too.” Darragh reached across the table. “I miss you.”
Finn looked at Darragh’s outstretched hand. He wanted to take it, wanted to let himself fall into the easy warmth they’d had before everything got complicated. But that warmth had led to diplomatic disasters and economic threats.
“Is it bad that I sound like Aldric?” The question came out more quietly than he’d intended. “Aldric is respected. Everyone listens to him. The council takes him seriously.”
“Aldric is my adviser, not my husband.”
“No, you married someone who doesn’t know what he’s doing.” Finn pulled his hand back, picked up his fork again. “I’m fixing that.”
The silence stretched. Finn focused on his plate, cutting his chicken into precise pieces even though his appetite had vanished entirely.
“I didn’t marry you because you knew everything,” Darragh said finally. “I married you because you were real.”
“Real doesn’t feed people when trade agreements collapse.” Finn heard his own words echo from weeks ago, still just as true. “I need to be competent, Darragh. Not just real.”
Darragh looked like he wanted to argue, but what could he say? Finn was right. They both knew it.
They finished dinner in near silence.
/~/~/~/~/
That night, Finn spread his papers across the bed while Darragh read beside him. The familiar comfort of their evening routine felt strange now, performative. Darragh turned pages in his book, but Finn noticed he wasn’t actually reading - his eyes didn’t move across the lines.
“Finn.” Darragh’s hand settled on his shoulder, warm through the silk of his nightshirt. “Come to bed properly.”
Finn’s body responded immediately to the touch, the promise in Darragh’s voice. He wanted to. He wanted to forget about delegations and protocols for just a short while, and be close to his husband.
But he had six more delegate files to review. And the preliminary schedule needed adjustments based on the Northern Reaches’ prayer requirements. And…
“I’m sorry.” He shifted away from Darragh’s touch carefully, keeping his tone apologetic. “I need to review these files again. There’s a conflict between the Westmarch delegation schedule and the Eastern Reaches arrival time that I need to resolve.”
“It’s eleven at night.”
“I know. I’ll be quick.” Finn returned his attention to the papers, fighting against the ache in his chest. “You can go to sleep. I’ll turn the lamp down.”
He felt rather than saw Darragh’s withdrawal. The mattress shifted as Darragh rolled onto his side, facing away.
Finn worked until the words blurred on the page. His eyes burned. His head pounded. His hand cramped around the pen.
Just a few more minutes. Just finish this section.
/~/~/~/~/
Darragh woke around three in the morning. Finn was slumped over his papers, pen still clutched in his hand, breathing deep and even in exhausted sleep. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his hair was a mess.
Darragh eased the pen from Finn’s grip and set it aside. He carefully gathered the papers and stacked them on the nightstand. Finn didn’t stir. He pulled a blanket over Finn’s shoulders, tucking it around him gently. In sleep, the tension finally left Finn’s face. He looked younger, softer. More like the man Darragh had married.
Darragh settled back against his pillows, watching his husband sleep. Finn was right there, close enough to touch, but somehow more distant than when Finn had gone home to Winrone.
I did this,Darragh thought.I married him, knowing he wasn’t trained for this. I brought him into this life, and now he’s tearing himself apart trying to fit in.
But what was the alternative? Tell Finn to stop trying so hard when the Northern Collective was waiting for any excuse to break their agreement? Ask Finn to just be himself when that might cost thousands of people their livelihoods?
