Page 51 of His Stolen Bride

“What else?” I ask him.

He shrugs. “Eggs. Not runny.”

“Scrambled or flat?”

“Scrambled,” he says. Then, after a pause, “Small. And I like sausages too, browned and cut up.”

I nod once and signal to the staff without looking away from him. Alina’s fingers tighten slightly around her mug. I don’t comment on it.

“You can sit closer if you want,” I tell him, gesturing to the chair beside me.

He looks at Alina first.

She hesitates, then nods. “It’s fine.”

He moves slowly, climbing into the seat and settling with care. He doesn’t fidget or test boundaries. He just exists, which tells me more than noise ever could.

The food arrives. Toast first, with honey thick enough to stay put. Eggs done exactly right, and a serving of sausages with fresh tomatoes, cut up and salted. I don’t touch my plate. He digs in, and the brightness with which he eats does odd things to my heart.

“You didn’t ask Mama,” he says suddenly.

“I didn’t need to,” I reply. “She already knows what she likes.”

Alina’s eyes lift to mine for half a second. There’s surprise there. And something else she doesn’t let surface.

“You don’t ask many questions,” she says quietly.

“I listen,” I answer.

The boy sighs softly as he eats, content, focused. Crumbs gather on the table. Alina reaches to brush them away, then stops herself and lets him do it.

I see the tiredness in her now, clearer in daylight.

“You stayed moving,” I say, low enough that he can’t hear. “That wasn’t easy.”

She doesn’t deny it. “Neither was staying.”

We sit like that for a while. No arguments. No demands. Just shared space that feels temporary even as it settles. When he finishes, he pushes the plate away neatly. “Thank you,” he says to no one in particular.

“You’re welcome,” I say anyway.

Alina watches me then, really watches me, like she’s weighing something she doesn’t want to name.

I stand first. “I’ve got a meeting.”

“I know,” she says.

I pause, then add, “Would you two like to go out with me later?”

She stares at me, surprised. “For⁠—”

“Anything,” I reply. “Coffee. Dinner. The bookstore.”

After a pause, she nods quietly. “Yes, I believe we’d like that very much.”

That’s enough. I leave the room knowing exactly what this costs and knowing I’m not walking away from it again.

The council starts circling within a day. Requests for updates. Subtle questions. Old men pretending concern. Younger ones pretending curiosity. Vienna smells blood when a Morin shows uncertainty.