Fletcher awoke with a start, his body tight like a spring. The bed was unfamiliar but comfortable. The cloying scents, flowers, and flesh clogged his nose. With a glance around the room, the previous night came flooding back.  

The vision of Hazel underneath him, covered in bite marks, filled his mind.

Ah.

What had he done? What had he confessed? Dammit, all. 

Fletcher buried his head in his hands to cover the shameful blush that heated his cheeks. How could someone who he knew for just a few days captivate him in such a way? It was lunacy! At nearly thirty he should know better. 

The quiet din of Hazel in the bathroom held him like a balloon’s string. Whether or not they would want him later remained to be seen. There were things that Fletcher could not find the words to tell them. But they were there, at that moment, and he had a task to complete. 

One. Get Hazel to Briargarth.

Two. Release them from their debt. Somehow.

Three. Go home.

After a moment of catching his breath, Fletcher heaved himself to his feet and tiptoed over to the bathroom. “Miss Hazel,” he said, voice shattering the quiet morning like a pane of glass. “How did you sleep?”

“More peacefully than I have in quite some time.” Hazel emerged after a few moments, smelling of daffodils and lips painted pink. 

“I’m glad,” he said, rocking from one leg to the other. They looked beautiful in the morning light, like the dew on a lily. “I...I didn’t hurt you last night, did I?” He winced as the words came tumbling out. 

The bites had been instinct, a desire to mark his own as natural as breathing. But like many things, dawn brought clarity.

And shame.  

Hazel rubbed their neck. “You left some...spots, but I am unharmed, do not worry,” they said. They met him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“G-good.” 

Fletcher let them move him, humming at their gentle touch. It could have been worse, he supposed. The urges were hard to control when he was completely calm, let alone when making love. But hurting Hazel would have been unforgivable. 

“We-We need to talk,” he murmured, reaching a hand to cover the one on his cheek. “My offer last night, please do not think it hinges on this.” 

He cleared his throat. “We’ve only been acquainted for a short time. If it comes to pass we cannot go further, I'll still do what I can to free you.”

“Thank you,” they said,” But don’t worry. This is a choice I’ve made. One of the only ones I’ve made in years.”

Hazel stepped back a bit. “When you are ready, we should get breakfast.”

The reasons for them to reconsider died on Fletcher’s lips. Instead, he followed Hazel’s steps, taking their hand as he went. “Of course, Miss Hazel.”

He quickly got dressed, peeling off the shirt he had slipped on to sleep in. He replaced it with the crimson one from the night before. Though the collar was a bit wrinkled from Hazel’s hands pulling at it, it was still suitable for traveling. 

After a moment, Fletcher was decent, jacket pulled on and pack on his shoulder. “Would you like to grab something to eat on the ride?”

He had never been to Ringcomb but he knew its reputation. The birthplace of embedding and the hometown of the Celestihalo Monastery, it was known for being quite stuffy. It was mostly home to clerics and Scholars, their lives devoted to studying magic. 

Louis had once fancied himself studious enough to enter the monastery as a student. It had not lasted long, according to the letters he had sent back to Maple Hollow. Louis loved studying embedding but gave up the traditional path after the attack on Maple Hollow. He had chosen the way of an apprentice instead. 

Though the hobby was strange for the son of a blacksmith and Hunter, Fletcher had been grateful for it when Louis had had to cut the Spark crystals from his back. 

“The food won’t be quite as glamorous in Ringcomb,” he said with a crooked smile.

Hazel nodded.“That sounds wonderful. I would rather not spend the ride hungry.”

“We will get something warm then, Miss Hazel,” Fletcher bowed deeply, offering his hand to them. “Tell me, have you seen the sea?”

Hazel shook their head, taking his hand. “No never. Garth never allowed us much freedom.” 

“My brother has told me that Ringcomb is a short ride from the coast,” Fletcher smiled, squeezing their hand in his. “I think we can afford to spend a few days in one place.”

Hazel's expression was bright, like a freshly minted copper coin.

"Perhaps,” he continued, grin widening, “We encountered some trouble on the road. A delay of some sort?” Fletcher covered his expression with one hand. “It’ll be too cold for swimming but the forests are quite lovely.”

Hazel nodded at his mischievous suggestion. “Oh Lord Garth will be so disappointed but we simply had no other options.”

The pair continued hand in hand, out the door, luggage in tow.