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The cottage was cool and dark when we stepped inside it. The smell of dust hung in the still air, tickling my nose as we walked into the living room and stopped.
“Has anyone been here?” Ash asked, his voice hushed as he wandered over to the bookcase.
I shook my head. “No. Not since I used to sleep here.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw him flinch and look down, brows pinching with pain. Guilt pierced through me. I hadn’t meant to remind him of that time, and I would never try to make him feel guilty for it. As awful as it had been over those long, bleak months when Ash no longer remembered me, I had never blamed him for it. I used to blame only myself, but now I could clearly see just how much had been working against us back then.
I started making my way over to him, but froze when he spoke.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Ash.” I gently turned him to face me. “You don’t need to be sorry.”
He let out a shuddering breath and clutched the front of my shirt, head still bent. “I remember when I saw you here, and… you were in so much pain. Because of me.”
“You thought I had killed your parents,” I said bluntly, because I refused to let him shoulder all the blame for what had happened. “You thought I had been playing games with you for months because I stood silent in that room and watched the Carlin…” I shuddered, not wanting to think of that night. “You felt betrayed. You were hurt, and angry, and you had lost everything. You don’t need to be sorry. I’m sorry.”
He immediately shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t tell me anything and you couldn’t risk the Carlin finding out—”
“We could talk in circles about this all night,” I said gently, cupping his face so he had to look at me. “But I would rather be here with you now. All of that is in the past, and all the people who took so much from us both are gone. There’s no point thinking about it, Ash. We are here. Together.”
His eyes glimmered like gold coins in the dark, sorrow still etched into his features. He whispered, “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“I hurt you too.” Trying to chase off the sadness in his eyes, I smiled and said, “We have the rest of our long lives still ahead of us, Oak King. We will probably hurt each other again in small, silly ways. Your hot temper isn’t going anywhere, nor is my unfortunate inclination to bury my head in the sand when things get difficult. But in the end, it doesn’t matter, because we love each other, and there is no one left who will try and make us think otherwise.”
He nodded, and finally, a tiny smile tilted his lips. Moving closer, he buried his face in my neck and wrapped his arms around me tight.
“Becoming king has made you all mature,” he mumbled. “Why didn’t that happen to me?”
I chuckled, smoothing a hand through his curls. “Must I remind you that we were both just stumbling through the forest hallucinating dancing frogs and talking trees?”
His laugh was a little wobbly, but as he lifted his head, he looked happier. “At least the tea worked.”
“Yes.” Cupping his face, I gave him a firm kiss before murmuring, “I need you clear-headed tonight, seelie.”
“Is that so?” His eyes brightened with mirth, and he looked around at the dark living room. “I like being back here.”
“I like being back here too.” I gave him another kiss before releasing him. “Let’s get a fire going.”
“Okay. Maybe both fires, so we can have a bath?”
I chuckled, patting the lip of the copper tub as I walked past it to kneel in front of the fireplace. “We won’t both fit in there, seelie.”
“You can still scrub my back.” He gave the back of my head an affectionate scratch as he reached for something on the mantel.
The soft rasp of a match being lit followed. As I began cleaning the hearth, Ash went around and lit the candles in the living room and kitchen, before heading into the bedroom.
“Didn’t even make the bed the last time you left,” he called teasingly, making my mouth quirk as I laid a new fire. Then I heard him say, “No way.”
“What?” I glanced over, already holding out my hand for the matches when he appeared in the bedroom doorway. As I saw what he was holding, a blush crept over my cheeks. I quickly straightened. “Alright, well, they are very comfortable—”
“I’m just shocked they survived.” He laughed and held up his old shorts, now ragged and threadbare from being worn so often and scrubbed clean so many times.
I blinked and asked in mild offence, “Survived? What do you think I did with them?”
“What did you do with them?” he shot back slyly, mouth tilting into a smirk as he approached.
My face grew hotter. “I… wore them in bed. To sleep.”
