Archive of Our Own

The sun was beginning to set behind the Frostbacks when Inquisitor Trevelyan walked into Josephine’s office. Normally Mary wouldn’t notice, as the man had to pass through to access the war room, and often had business with Lady Montilyet, but he normally marched in with confidence. Today one could almost mistake him for one of Cullen’s new recruits, cowering under the gaze of a renowned warrior.

He approached Josephine’s desk, and Mary watched from where she sat in one of the chairs in front of the fire. She had been reading through replies from various generals, commanders, and chevaliers across Ferelden and Orlais. It was her designated realm under the ambassador.

“Josephine, do you have a moment?” the Inquisitor asked, almost timidly. Mary was amused to see such a powerful man acting nervous.

“Oh, I didn’t hear you come in, Inquisitor. What can I do for you?”

“I need some things from Val Royeaux and I thought perhaps…you could acquire them?” He spoke quietly even though Mary was the only other person in the room.

Josephine blinked, looking confused. “Isn’t that a job for the requisition officer?” she asked politely.

The Inquisitor shifted from foot to foot, bringing a hand up to run through his hair. “Well, these items aren’t really for the Inquisition…”

The ambassador laid down her pen, he had her full attention now. Steepling her fingers she looked up at him, her eyes prodding for an explanation.

He sighed, finally resigning himself to just be straightforward. “There’s some things I would like to get for Cassandra.”

Recognition dawned on Josephine’s face in the form of a gleeful gasp. Mary stood and moved to stand next to Josephine’s desk, grinning eat-to-ear. “I knew you fancied the Lady Cassandra!” she said with excitement.

“What?” The Inquisitor blushed a little, looking shocked. “You knew?”

Mary laughed, loving this love-struck side of Remy Trevelyan. “Of course! Who could miss the eyes the two of you make at each other?”

“Maker,” groaned Remy, hiding his reddening face in his hands. “So much for this being a simple, quiet matter.”

“Oh, Inquisitor,” began Josephine with laughter. “We are only teasing.” She turned her head to look up at Mary. “Could you handle this…delicate matter for the Inquisitor?”

“Under one condition,” said Mary, holding up a finger and smirking.

Cullen was in his tower as usual. Today when Mary walked in he was standing at the window, both hands resting on the hilt of his sword as he gazed thoughtfully out at the mountains. His door was already open so he didn’t hear the young woman come in.

She stepped lightly, rolling her feet from heel to toe like she had learned from the elves when they wanted to be especially quiet. She was standing just behind his shoulder when she finally spoke, “Great commander of the Inquisition, daydreaming? I hope I’m in there.”

Cullen turned quickly, his wide eyes revealing that he was startled. “M-Mary!” His voice cracked and he paused, clearing his throat before speaking again. “What can I do for you?”

“I have an assignment for us,” she said cheerfully, waving a piece of parchment in the air. Cullen reached out to take it but she pulled it away. “Tsk! You never just grab something a lady is holding, Cullen!”

Despite his experience with Mary’s teasing, the Commander flushed scarlet. “My apologies.”

The redhead smiled cheekily, perching on the corner of the desk. “I do love making you stutter, Commander.”

He sighed, bringing two fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You enjoy teasing me, don’t you?”

“Always,” she replied cheerfully. “Anyway, you are to escort me to Val Royeaux.”

At that he looked at her, his eyebrows raised in question. “I am?”

Now she offered the parchment. He hesitated but then gently took it from her hands. He read the missive, shook his head, and then read it again more thoroughly. Finally he looked up at Mary, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is this a joke?”

Mary exaggerated her pout, slumping over dejectedly. “Aw, c’mon, Cullen!”

“I have an army to command, I can’t be running off to Val Royeaux for flowers and chocolate.” Mary opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off. “Not even with you, Mary.”

She sighed, straightening her back. “I just knew you would say something like that.”

“Then why bring this to me?”

“Because of what the Inquisitor wrote on the back,” she replied in a mutter.

Cullen flipped the paper over and read:

When the commander looked at Mary again she was grinning slyly.

Cullen was flabbergasted. He wasn’t sure if he should be impressed, frustrated, or scared that Mary, the seemingly docile diplomat, had manipulated one of the most powerful men in Thedas.

“Well, what are you just standing there for?” Mary teased. “We have a requisition to fill!”

Cullen and Mary left by horseback early the next morning. It was just the two of them: The commander was more than enough protection for Mary, and without his Inquisition armor he would not be readily recognized. Instead he wore simple dragonscale armor, light but almost impenetrable. He felt strange without the weight of heavy mail, like he might float away into the sky at any moment.

Mary was positively ecstatic about leaving Skyhold. She bounced in her saddle, pointing out the wildlife and grinning more brightly than the gleam off the freshly fallen snow.

“It feels like it’s been ages sine I’ve gotten out of that office!” she exclaimed, startling some birds from the trees nearby. “When we were at Haven I was always on the road, but now pretty much everyone comes to us.”

Cullen remembered how he would be standing in the training yard when she returned, seated atop her palomino wrapped in furs like an Avvar princess. She had always waved and called out to him with a smile, and he was always unable to resist one in return.

“It’s much safer at Skyhold,” he stated, always the pragmatist. “It’s a risk for a non-combatant to travel.”

Mary frowned, puffing her cheeks out. “I can fight! I’m decent with a bow!”

“‘Decent with a bow’ will still get you killed nine times out of ten.” His tone was harsher than he had intended, but if it scared her back to Skyhold, then so be it.

Instead, it had the opposite effect. Mary sat up proudly, gripped her reins and glared hard at him. “I am not some damsel, Cullen Rutherford.” Suddenly she sounded like a lady of court, or a queen. “You will not bully me into turning back. It is four days ride to and from Val Royeaux.” A sly smirk slipped across her lips now. “If our troops cannot hold without their commander for eight days, then that Inquisition is in trouble. Can they do without you, Commander?”

Cullen flushed; he couldn’t help it, she always caught him off guard. With her round, worried eyes and light-hearted nature it was easy to forget that she was also very clever and cunning, and she had defeated as many generals with words as he had with his sword. He was her usual prey.

Mary reveled in the commander’s speechlessness for a moment and then laughed, a clear sound like a rippling creek, the tension crumbling. “Oh, Cullen, you’re so easy to bother. I adore you.”

He hoped she didn’t see his red ears before she turned to spur her horse into a gallop.

Val Royeaux was as brilliant as ever. The sun was high in a cloudless sky, making the bright paints on the buildings really stand out. No matter how nasty the Game got, the city remained beautiful in Mary’s eyes.

Cullen paid a stable outside the gate to take their horses and they entered on foot. The crowd was very busy today, and as the two of them entered the city center it was immediately clear why. Smashed together were dozens of merchant stalls from all over Thedas.

“Market day!” Mary exclaimed cheerfully.

“Market day,” groaned Cullen at the same time. “It’s going to take forever to find what we need.”

“But in the process we’ll find so much fascinating stuff!” Mary was grinning widely as she looked around, her eyes barely settling on one place before flitting away to another. However, they finally came to settle on a stall selling books. She tugged on Cullen’s arm and pointed it out, so together they would through the crowd to approach it. Mary kept a hand on Cullen’s arm so they wouldn’t become separated, but she had butterflies nonetheless. She imagined how they looked side by side and her heart fluttered.

“We need one book of poetry,” Cullen spoke out loud as he shifted through books. “Ah, here’s one.” He held up his selection.

Mary almost gagged on the laugh she tried to stifle. “We need romantic poetry.”

“What’s wrong with this? It says ‘poetry.’”

“Yes, Poetry of Orlesian WARS.”

Cullen looked abashed as he placed the book back on the cart. “Perhaps you should do this?”

“It is why I’m here,” Mary giggled and stepped closer to the stall. She spent a few minutes asking the merchant questions about his inventory and comparing various tomes. Finally, she settled on one and Cullen paid the man with Inquisition gold.

When he turned around Mary was holding the book out to him, a little impish smile on her face. “This is the poetry we need,” she explained. He took it and opened to a random page. He began to read, and by the second stanza his jaw clenched and his cheeks burned softly.

“This is romantic?” He stuttered a bit when he spoke.

Mary laughed. “It is to Cassandra.”

“It’s obscene!” Cullen snapped the book shut, looking at her with a raised brow. “Do you think this is romantic?”

She shrugged her shoulders, looking down at the ground. “No, fancy words do nothing for me.”

“And you in the business of words. Who would have guessed?” Cullen teased lightly, his voice soft. It wouldn’t have been audible over the cacophony of people if he hadn’t been right at her ear. His breath brushed her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

Abruptly, she cleared her throat. “I believe we have flowers and chocolate left on the list?”

Cullen stepped back, his eyes darting around at the people near them. One masked lady giggled and turned away when he accidentally met her eye. “Um, yes.”

“I know great places for both, so we really won’t be here as long as you thought.” Mary pointed off to her right. “Come on.”

As a shop practically bursting with flowers of all shapes and sizes came into view, an idea occurred to the commander. “Won’t these flowers be wilted by the time we arrive back at Skyhold?”

“Usually you would have that problem, but Basile is a mage. All of his flowers are under a preservation spell that lasts for a whole year!”

It was obvious to Mary that Cullen did not care one bit about long-lasting bulbs when he said, “Is this magic safe?”

Mary rolled her eyes. Once a Templar, always a Templar. “He wouldn’t be in the center of Val Royeaux for two decades if it wasn’t safe.”

“Fair enough,” the commander conceded. “Do you know what kind of flowers Cassandra likes?” He couldn’t help feeling slightly awkward asking such a thing about a fellow warrior. In fact, the whole requisition made him feel uncomfortable, made him see the Inquisitor and the Seeker in a more…personal light than he wanted.

“No, but she seems to be after classic romance, so something red should do perfectly.”

Cullen followed behind her as she perused the selections, watching her carefully feel the blooms with a gentle touch or lean forward to inhale the scent, her eyes closed. He couldn’t help but find her lovelier than the flowers. She was not as put-together today as she normally was around Skyhold, but that made her even more attractive to him. Her red hair was pulled into an easy ponytail on top of her head, the shorter layers twisting and curling about her ears and against her neck. The strands were as stark as blood against smooth pearl-colored skin. He felt a tingle in his hand as he yearned to push a strand from her gaze, so he placed it on the pommel of his sword instead.

“You mentioned classic romance,” he questioned to distract himself, admiring a particularly bright bouquet of orange blooms. Their petals splayed out like a star. “What is that?”

Mary looked at him, holding a dozen flowers that matched her hair. The blooms were large and full, the petals looked like satin. Framed in vermillion, her eyes shone like emeralds. “You know,” she began, her voice helping to ground him in his distraction, “pretty much all this: Flowers, poetry, candy…She wants him to pamper and woo her like a suitor at court. It’s pretty ironic considering it’s…well…Cassandra.”

The idea that Cassandra of all people desired these things baffled Cullen, but it also had him wondering, “Do all women desire this?”

Mary laughed. “Maker, no. I definitely don’t, at least.”

That intrigued the commander much more than Cassandra’s preferences. “What romances you, Mary?” Perhaps he was too bold, but the opportunity had presented itself and he was a man none could accuse of sitting back on his haunches when opportunity knocked.

Mary thought for a moment, slowly fingering one of the satin petals. “Well…it isn’t just poetry I don’t fancy. My job is mincing words all day. I don’t want my love life to be like that. I like actions, whether they’re small gestures or quiet stares. Grand overtures only make me feel embarrassed.”

“I must agree with you,” Cullen said, his tone mixed with relief. He tried not to smile so brightly, he didn’t want to come off as too eager, but what she had described resonated with him. His heart beat a little faster in his chest. “So,” he pushed forward, “are those the flowers you’ve chosen?”

“Yes, aren’t they gorgeous?”

“The red is very becoming,” he agreed, but he wasn’t talking about the flowers.

With the poetry and flowers bought, that left only the chocolate. As Mary was leading the way through the crowd she suddenly stopped, her eyes growing as round as full moons. Cullen was immediately alarmed, his hand gripping the hilt of his longsword.

“Blessed be the Maker,” Mary gasped breathlessly and then rushed forward toward a stall. It was laden with lavish gowns and dresses in colors of gold, silver, blue, and every color possible. Mary had her eye specifically on a simple gown of sky blue silk. The fabric wrapped around the neck of the mannequin, the bodice fitted with an extended waist. The skirt flowed easily in the breeze, falling still in soft ruffles.

Cullen couldn’t help but chuckle as he released his grip on his weapon. “Come, Mary. We must leave before dusk.”

Mary pouted but didn’t protest. She looked longingly at the dress and then moved away, taking the lead again with much less cheer.

Cullen lingered for a moment, a frown twisting his lips as he watched her trudge away.

Mary was much more subdued on the journey out of Orlais. She rode wordlessly beside the commander, staring off into the sky. It was obvious by her eyes that her mind was far away.

Cullen moved his horse closer to hers. “Is something the matter?”

She turned to look at him slowly, seeming to struggle to pull herself from her thoughts. “Hm?”

“Is something the matter?” he repeated with a slight frown.

“Oh,” she looked a little embarrassed, “I’m fine. I was just daydreaming.”

“I’m not used to you being this quiet.” He chuckled a bit and Mary smiled sheepishly.

“I’ve got to be able to let my guard down sometimes, Commander. Don’t you?”

He started to answer but a sound to their left made him turn his head in time to see men rushing them from the tall grass growing alongside the road. They wore mismatched clothing and only a few had leather armor of any kind; they were common bandits. He cursed himself for not hearing them sooner.

Cullen unsheathed his sword and moved his horse between the handful of advancing men and Mary, also removing a small dagger from his belt and handing it to her. She gripped it gratefully.

In the stories when battle broke out there was a rallying cry and, more or less, things made sense. But this was not a tale.

There was a silence, almost deafening, and then the world was filled with shouts, the clang of steel against iron, and the twang of a bow. Mary threw herself down onto the horse’s neck and an arrow sliced across the top of her shoulder blades. She grunted through her teeth at the sting but didn’t cry out. She slipped from the saddle and gripped her horse’s reins and hid behind her. The mare was trained to not spook in a skirmish, but Mary could see the fear in her eyes.

An arrow hit the ground at her feet and she jumped back. Either this archer was about as skilled as she or he was deliberately avoiding a kill shot. She held tightly to the blade Cullen had given her and couched down into the grass.

Meanwhile, the commander was fending off two dual-wielding rogues and a swordsman. He focused on the warrior, matching him blow to blow, but he had to expend too much of his concentration keeping track of the rogues dancing around him. Not to mention he did not know how Mary fared. It was a challenge stopping his anxiety from making him try to rush this encounter. If he died then…no, he wouldn’t even consider what would happen to Mary if that were to happen. He was the commander of the Inquisition and these bandits were just bugs under his boots.

With a cry that could only be classified as a roar he rushed the swordsman, his blade held from his chest. The combination of the volume of his rally and the aggressiveness of his sudden offensive took his enemies by surprise. He overwhelmed the warrior, knocking his blade from his hands. He started to beg for mercy or curse him; it didn’t matter which, his throat was slashed now.

One of the rogues charged him angrily, and he dispatched him easily. But when he turned to face the other bandit he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He started to turn to look for Mary when he was jumped from behind—literally. The rogue landed on his back with a vicious string of words, bringing a blade around to press against his throat. Cullen brought his elbow back with enough force to toss the man from him, but the blade slit his throat in the process. He doubled over, gripping his neck as blood ran over his fingers and seeped down his chest. He fell forward onto his knees, coughing and sputtering.

The rogue rolled to his feet and lunged at Cullen. His daggers would have penetrated both his chest and back had he made contact, but an arrow speared through his hands, forcing the blades to the ground. He yelled in pain as he turned to face where the arrow had come from, and another caught him through the eye. He was dead when he hit the ground.

Cullen’s head snapped up to see Mary standing over a dead bandit, holding a bow and breathing heavily. When she noticed the blood on him she rushed forward, dropping and forgetting the shortbow behind her.

“Cullen!” she exclaimed, placing her hands on his shoulders. “How bad is it? Are you wounded anywhere else?”

“I thought you were supposed to only be decent with a bow.” His voice was strained by pain, rough, but he was trying to make a joke.

“I was actually aiming for his heart both times,” she admitted. “Let me see how deep this is.” Gripping his hands, she gently removed them from his neck. She didn’t care about the blood, so she continued to hold them as she leaned in close to inspect the cut. She could hear his breathing, feel the warmth gently tussling her hair, and she found it difficult to focus.

“It isn’t deep, but we should cover it.” She moved to stand, releasing his hands. “I have some bandages in my pack.”

Mary turned to approach her horse and heard Cullen gasp. She swiveled back around to look at him, standing now, and saw that his eyes were wide with concern.

“Mary, your back…you’re more injured than I.”

Mary reached around and placed a hand against her back. It felt warm and sticky, and when she brought it back to the front she looked down to see her blood covering Cullen’s across her palm. The whole back of her tunic was soaked.

Her eyes rolled back, and she fainted.

The first thing Mary was aware of was a crackling, and then she realized it was dark. At first she thought she couldn’t see, but the longer she stared the more pinpricks of light came into focus. She was looking at stars.

Memories rushed back to her and she gasped, sitting up quickly. Pain shot through her nerves from the cut along her back and she flinched, but it wasn’t debilitating. She could feel a bandage across her shoulder blades and her shirt was drying and crusty in places. Yuck.

“Mary! Are you all right?” Cullen had crouched down next to her now, a warm, large hand gently resting on her shoulder. A small fire burned beside her and the horses were tethered to trees by a quiet creek.

“I-I’m fine,” she said, the last of the lagged feeling dissipating. She looked up at him, her eyes focusing on his face. He looked so genuinely concerned, she couldn’t deny that the feeling that accompanied that thought was pleasing. Then she saw his neck, crusted with blood and neglected. “Cullen, that’s going to get infected!” She reached out toward him but he drew back, covering his neck with his hand.

“It will wait until we return to Skyhold.” He spoke as though he was giving a command to one of his soldiers. “Besides, it’s not as severe as yours.”

He was trying to deflect attention from his person, and Mary was not having any of it. “Perhaps, but at least allow me to clean it.” She looked up into his eyes, pleading with him. “It’ll feel better to be cleaned and bandaged, and then a healer can look at it when we get home.”

Cullen didn’t respond right away. He stared into her eyes as though he were trapped, and after a moment he sighed and closed them. “Very well.” He opened his eyes again. “But you are to remain seated and don’t strain yourself. I will fetch whatever you require.”

Mary agreed and instructed him to boil water, bring bandages, and find something to work as a washcloth. He cut a piece of cloth from his saddle and washed it out with some of the heated water. She then had him sit in front of her. She kneeled on her knees and dipped the cloth into the water, ringing it out and then leaning forward to gently wipe the blood from his skin.

It was hard to not be aware of how near they sat, with her head bent to the side to see his neck better. He held his chin up slightly to make it easier, and for a moment she was distracted by the strong lines of his jaw.

“Is it bad?” he asked, startling her.

She dipped the cloth in the water and rung it out again. “It’s very shallow, a clean cut. You’ll probably have a thin scar, though.”

Cullen chuckled, she could feel the vibrations of it as she gently dabbed at his throat. “Scars don’t worry me. Do they worry you?”

She paused. “No, not at all.”

Mary finished cleaning his skin until the wound was just a red line across his neck. She tossed the bloodied cloth into the small pot of now-pink water and dried her hands on the front of her tunic. Then she grabbed the roll of bandages and moved a little closer, standing on her knees so she could easily wrap the thin cloth around his throat.

“Let me know if it’s too tight,” she said softly as she worked, diligently placing the bandage.

When she finished her hands lingered for a moment, distractedly smoothing and re-smoothing the gauze.

After a few moments Cullen whispered, “Mary?”

She looked up, blue eyes meeting brown, and her breath hitched in her throat. The look he was giving her was poignant. The question between them died away as they seemed to gaze through each other to understanding. Cullen enveloped one of her hands in his, his fingers curling around hers and holding it to his chest. She could feel his heart beating, racing as quickly as her own.

The world around them melted away when he leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers. The kiss was chaste at first, tentative, but when she didn’t pull away or shove him off, he dared to deepen it. Fireworks exploded in her heart, filling her up until she thought she might burst.

And then abruptly he pulled back, releasing her hand and pushing himself out of her space.

“Mary, I-I’m sorry. With the fight, you were hurt, and I—”

Mary giggled and Cullen stopped in his tracks, blinking at her. He was unsure if she was mocking him.

“Cullen, it’s all right.” She reached out and held his face between her hands, forcing him to look her directly in the eye. “It’s about time you kissed me, I’ve only been dropping hints for months now.”

Cullen flushed so furiously she could feel the heat against her palms. She laughed and leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his.

“Oh, Cullen, you’re adorable.”

The Inquisitor met them at the gate, and when he saw they had been injured he began to continuously apologize for endangering them for frivolous things. The commander eased his conscience with a few friendly words and sent him on his way with his flowers, chocolate, and poetry book. Josephine then arrived to usher them off to the healers.

For the next few days both parties had to play catch-up. Mary had letters to write, gifts to send, and demands to make. Cullen had patrols to oversee, troops to train, and strategies to plan. They rarely crossed paths, but when they did a shy smile would pass between them.

One day while Mary took a short breather along the battlements she overheard a joyous laugh. She peered over the side near the smithy to see Cassandra leaned against a wall, Lord Trevelyan leaning in close. She averted her gaze and kept walking, a small smile on her face. She was satisfied she had chosen the right gifts.

It did make her think of Cullen though, but that wasn’t anything new since they shared that kiss. She must have replayed the moment over and over in her mind a thousand times, yet each replay still brought a fresh batch of somersaulting butterflies in her gut. It was unfortunate they had been too busy to properly talk, but Mary was trying not to let herself start to fear he regretted it. She just couldn’t bear the idea after fancying him for so long.

When she returned to her desk in Josephine’s office she found a small roll of paper placed precisely in the center of her workspace. Curious, she picked it up and unfolded it, reading quickly:

Her heart started pounding in her chest. “C” could be none other than Cullen, but why such a cryptic message? He wanted to meet when and where they would be alone, so she had an inkling what the conversation would be about. That made her nervous, because it could go one of two ways: Extremely well, or heartbreaking.

She was almost useless the rest of the day. She was too jittery to sit still and write letters, so she paced around in front of the fireplace, chewing on her nails. Josephine asked questions, but Mary deflected until she finally sent her off to dinner. She ate slowly, afraid to put too much food on her already wound up stomach. Afterward, she retired to her room, small but private, and laid on the bed. For hours she watched shadows recede with the sunlight and the darkness close in.

But despite the impatience, when midnight drew closer she found herself reluctant to leave her rom. In here, if she could freeze time, she still had the hope that there could be something between them, going to this meeting would surely decide whether or not that was true.

However, she could not freeze time and she wouldn’t dare be late, so she left her room and walked briskly toward the garden. She had pulled a shawl around her shoulders, but still the chill seeped in and she shivered. Even spring nights in Skyhold were extremely cold.

The garden was empty when she got there, that was simple enough to see with a glance. She made her way toward the pavilion, seeking shelter from the wind, and was surprised to find a large white box sitting atop the stone chess table. Investigating, she found a card pinned to the top that said simply, “For Mary.”

She looked around again but she was still alone. Uncertain, she tentatively lifted the lid of the box. When the contents were revealed she could only gasp, almost dropping the lid. She quickly set it aside and reached into the box.

With awe, she slowly lifted the garment until she could admire it fully. It was the exact same blue dress she saw in Val Royeaux, the one she had fallen in love with instantly. She hugged it to her chest, rubbing a cheek against the silk. That’s when she noticed another note inside the box.

Heart thudding with anticipation and hands shaking with adrenaline, Mary folded the dress back into the box, gathered it into her arms, and hurried back to her quarters to change.

She pulled the tie from her hair and quickly combed through it before standing in front of the full-length mirror, a gift from a chevalier after Halamshiral. Mary wasn’t vain, but her self-esteem definitely wasn’t hurting tonight. Against the sky blue fabric the blue of her eyes and red of her hair really popped. The cinched waist hugged her snugly, accentuating her curves while still feeling comfortable. She did a few spins to test the skirt, and almost squealed when the light fabric spun out like the petals of a flower.

Satisfied with her appearance, she pulled her shawl back on. The old brown looked dirty compared to her new clothing, but she only needed it until she got to the office.

The main hall was quiet, the only sound the crackling of the flames in the braziers. She walked up the center, aware of how large the room truly was, and then dipped through the door toward the diplomacy office and war room. She took a deep breath before slowly opening the second door.

A fire was burning in the hearth, warming the room comfortably. Standing by the mantle was Cullen, a smile spreading across his face when he saw her.

“I see you found the dress,” he said. He sounded pleased.

“I did. Thank you, Cullen. It’s beautiful.” She smiled at him and removed her shawl, draping it over the back of one of the armchairs.

His eyes widened slightly, taking in the sight of her. She was stunning, for a moment he was speechless. But before he was silent for too long he stepped forward and gently took her hands in his, stepping close and smiling down at her.

“You’re beautiful.” His voice was low and soft, and Mary felt herself blushing a little. She looked down to the side for a moment to gather herself, and then looked into his eyes again.

“I was nervous about meeting you,” she admitted. “But the dress, this…Can I assume you don’t intend to push me away?”

Cullen was shocked that she would even think that, and it showed on his face. “Mary, never. If you will have me, I will never leave your side.”

Mary smiled, but now it was sad. “You can’t promise something like that during a war, Commander.”

He frowned, the title a grim reminder that she spoke the truth. “Perhaps not, but I can promise to try my hardest.” He released one hand to cup her cheek, his thumb gently grazing her skin. “I know you don’t like grand gestures, but Mary…You are the light in my life, and I would do anything to protect you.” He paused, and his next words were uncertain. “But only if you will have me.”

Mary’s smile this time was bright as she stepped closer to Cullen, lifting onto her toes to press her lips to his. The commander responded by wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her flush against his body, his head tilting to the side to deepen the kiss. Mary’s hands wound their way into his hair, the soft strands running easily between her fingers.

The rest of the night was filled with kisses and embraces, laughter and joy. They forgot about the war, about the Breach, about the rest of the world. Cullen gazed at her with love in his eyes, and she relished in the feeling that flooded her whole body and soul.

Maybe she liked a little classic romance after all.