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The scene spun before him, dizzy laughter and spiced smoke from the winter fires fogging Henry’s senses. His gloved fingers gripped the balistrade, new leather gently squeaking against the well-worn and freshly oiled wood.
With his eyes closed he could almost place himself kilometers away back at the Den, staged sentinel above them all. It had been busy those last few days as everybody packed themselves up and moved on, eager to follow ongoing trails of blood and money and war. If he took a deep breath, Henry could hear Janosh’s drunk and genuine laughter, the roll of dice and subsequent scramble as soused hands rolled them into the dirt. It had been enough for Henry to lounge listening and resting- to the bath maids giggling as they talked mercenaries into rolling up their tents, to the cook arguing with Treadlight over what to put in the ongoing stew now that most of their funds were heading out the door, to the stamping and snorting of impatient horses unused to too much still-time.
He remembered with an empty ache the moments when Hans would come perch next to him (not too close) (it was never close enough anymore). Words continued to hang desperately unspoken between them, vanishing once Hans finally couldn’t handle his own fidgeting anymore and wandered off with a sigh.
Ask me, Henry would think, watching him walk down the stairs, ask me to stage your death and run away with you.
Henry would say no, of course, but he begged for a chance to refuse and tie them both to a future of certainty and safety. He thought about Barnaby lost in the woods and knew that could never be them. Sir Hans Capon was not a nobody. Hans Capon was never meant to be a nobody.
Days had passed and neither of them had been able to address it, in the end. The messenger had come for the future Lord of Pirkstein and they had answered without digging their heels in the dirt. Maybe if Hans had asked him- maybe if Henry had been confident enough to break the silence and figure it all out before expectations claimed them again- instead they had left themselves to try and heal, licking their wounds before daring to peel open new ones.
Henry held a breath deep inside his chest, long enough to mumble half of a silent prayer from cracked lips, and when he opened his eyes again he found himself again in the present hovering above the remnants of the wedding. Alcohol would flow freely for quite some time yet and Henry watched happy guests in beautiful clothing mill around the open courtyard below him. Young men and women giggled through sloppy dances. The Lords of Leipa circled each other around a gilded barrel of wine. Henry let his eyes linger over his father, Lord Radzig of Skalitz, but averted his stare swiftly from Sir Divish and his expecting wife.
She’d already cornered him earlier downstairs, before the ceremony.
A gentle hand had touched Henry’s arm as he wandered through the spread of food, mind anywhere but the roast boar. He turned to greet a woman in beautiful, untouched green, and his smile froze on his face as his gaze fell from her intricately braided hair down to the other hand peacefully resting over a large, round stomach.
“Hello, Henry,” said Lady Stephanie.
He swallowed and bent his spine, bowing gently as she pulled her hand back. “Greetings, my Lady.”
“Everything tonight has turned out so lovely,” Lady Stephanie commented, waving towards the laden tables and heaps of fragrant flowers. “I never thought we would see Sir Capon tied to somebody so soon.” Her smile teased, and she gave him a knowing look. “Blessed Father knows how much trouble he gives Sir Hanush.”
“By the Lord’s grace he stands here today,” Henry agreed, vinegar on his tongue.
It had become clear weeks ago that it was no real secret he’d been ordered to get Hans to this point, to this altar. Servants and noble folk both had often mentioned it in passing as a running joke that Henry had long grown tired of hearing. Still, though, he was more than happy to have this conversation with the Lady instead of, for example, the complicated potential issue of her upcoming heir’s paternity.
Just thinking about it made Henry feel unwell. The odds, he reminded himself not for the first time, the odds were that her Lord husband was a very lucky man- or, rather, the odds were that Henry was not the only younger man who had also been… lucky.
Either way, this was a secret he was more than happy to take to his grave.
“My lord Sir Capon has come to his senses,” he finally replied. “At least so that Sir Hanush has not had to resort to the classic ball and chain.”
She laughed quietly with him, as if they shared the same joke. Stephanie smiled again, her fingers softly brushing the front of his coat before she decided to leave him be. “Be well, Henry,” she had said, freeing him from the conversation.
Henry pushed himself gently back from the balcony edge, settling on his heels. His sword hung familiarly heavy at his side, clean and obsessively sharpened, unused for some time (not long enough) (it would never be long enough). The rest of him felt oddly light, armor forcibly eschewed for the duration of the evening. The only fight they expected him to get into tonight wouldn’t be done with steel or iron; true guards, paid and kitted guards, took position throughout the castle. Henry had already seen one flask pass gauntleted hands and knew for sure active bets were casually being made across shifts.
He wondered briefly if they would allow him to join in or, as the man formally and secretly in charge of ensuring the vows occur, they’d consider him a bet not worth taking.
“Glad to finally be free?” a familiar voice asked, Katherine’s soft shoes slipping her quietly beside him. Lord above, he was too distracted; he hadn’t even noticed her approach.
He turned to see her, taking in her lavender cotton gown and innocent smile. “Free?”
Katherine lightly leaned over the rail and ran her gaze across the courtyard. “I’m sure half the guests here heard you shout at him earlier,” she answered lightly, eyes flicking towards him once, quickly, then back away.
Henry shifted on his feet, nodding once. Half of them had, yes, because it’d happened just as the next series of wine barrels were being installed and a good handful of people dressed in songbird clothes they’d never wear again were very busy nearby pretending not to be desperate for the uncorking. They’d had weeks to talk, and it had only exploded upon them in front of the entirety of the local nobility.
“Sir Capon has required a bit of… encouragement… to be here today,” he finally answered before attempting to change the subject. “I didn’t think that you would be invited.”
She looked at him with a wry twist of her lips and he shook his head. She hadn’t been, of course. Important to him didn’t mean important to Lord Hanush or the Lords of Kunstadt or anybody else who’d had a say regarding the expansive guest list. There was probably a world in which Henry himself wouldn’t have been invited. Katherine was there simply because this was the largest group of important people to gather in the area for some time.
She was dressed as an unobtrusive serving maid, pretty with her hair twisted atop her head and her dress just fancy enough to look like either family might have paid for it. Katherine, who was too sharp for Henry’s comfort, commented, “You’re looking awful pensieve up here, Henry.” She leaned faintly towards him and rested her fingers soft against his arm. “Are you worried your days of fun are all in the past?”
“I’m not the one saying vows this evening,” Henry said after a pause. He put his hand over hers and squeezed her fingers for a moment before casually creating distance between them. There were few women as dear to him as Katherine was, but he was too on edge to accept comfort. “I can drink to my heart’s content now that it’s over with.”
“That’s surely not all you will do?”
He wished she was easier to read. “What do you mean?”
“Your father, Lord Radzig-”
He cut her short with a raised hand, acid boiling again in his stomach. Once a day was too many times for this conversation and it was more tolerable from Hans’ mouth than hers. “Is my father in every way except for the one that matters,” he admitted.
Katherine hummed. “Or your father in the only way that does matter.”
“What?” Henry sighed. “I’m not fit to go around in circles like this with you, Katherine. Legally, I’m not anything but a particularly useful… blacksmith’s boy. And while the King is unavailable, that’s how it’ll remain.”
Katherine tilted her head and gestured loosely towards the scattering of people below. “Seems to me like you might prefer it that way.”
“A nobody commoner, you mean.”
“They’d all be happy to have you feasting with them down there, and yet you hide up here by yourself. Is that what you want?”
She didn’t understand and he had no way to explain. “God knows that I’ve had enough excitement and responsibility for a lifetime, Katherine. I’m not eager to start retelling war stories to young guests who haven’t left their own estates in months.”
Katherine nodded slowly and turned to watch the groups below shift. He was sure she could read meanings in the patterns of noble conversations, but he was happy not to have to try and follow along for a moment.
“Wanting things,” Henry said after a moment of silence between them, “is not meant for people like you and me, Katherine.”
Her hand rest upon his arm once more. “Henry,” she told him quietly, pulling him into her soft eyes, “wanting things is the only thing that keeps people like you and me going.”
Any hint of retort died in the back of his throat. He couldn’t meet her eyes any longer and turned away, hurt in a way she couldn’t understand (hurt in a way that she knew too deeply).
They rested together in silence for a lingering minute before Katherine left him be. Henry took a deep, steadying breath. He was too filled with regret, he thought, to have room for wanting things. Hans was right. Henry was too used to being the village’s dog to picture a life beyond the leash.
That’s what they had argued about, right before the ceremony. He had been following Hans' stern words from Lord Hanush a few hours before, bold in his mind. Henry had made some offhand comment about the amount of wine his lord was tending to, and Hans, barely holding himself together, had snapped at him.
“Mind your own fucking cup,” he had said, louder than he surely meant to, “and I’ll mind mine.”
“You don’t want to embarrass yourself or your name,” Henry had warned him, violently aware that the older Lady of Kunstadt and her favorite lady in waiting were hovering nearby.
“My family name!” Hans had exclaimed too loudly, goblet tilting in his hands enough to send droplets into the grass. “ You of all people don’t get to talk about family names!” He pointed at Henry, unaware (or uncaring) about the stares turning his way.
“My lord-”
Hans did not care about his Uncle’s deepening frown or Sir Radzig’s open-mouth stare or his in-law’s sharp gasp. He was panicking, Henry could tell, but fear wouldn’t excuse his behavior in the eyes of the nobles and God above. There was wine on the edge of his sleeve. “ You ,” Hans repeated, focusing in on Henry, “stalk around like a kicked hound who dreams of venison- let me go- ”
Henry, pulled to action by his father’s familiar narrowed brows, grabbed Han’s arm and pulled him from the courtyard, yanking the cup from his hand and leaving it behind as he shoved his noble charge into the first closed door down the nearest unused hallway.
He fumbled for a lock but the door didn’t have one; they’d swung into a small room filled only with sparse shelves and bundles of fragrant firewood left to continue drying. Henry pressed backwards into the door instead and shoved the heel of his boot against the bottom to keep it shut. He grabbed Hans’ arm and held him until Hans stood still.
“Quiet,” Henry said, releasing him and absently smoothing the crease his fingers had made in the embroidered fabric of Hans’ coat. Expensive, true gold instead of yellow. The cost of the groom’s outfit could purchase half of a smaller town. Henry had seen the tailor’s daughter pull out her stitches with shaking hands and redo bits over and over while the chamberlain debated with her father. His lord Capon probably (definitely) had absolutely no idea that he was wearing the labor of many hours- and fuck if he’d care anyway. The wine splashed on the edge of his sleeve was still damp.
“Don’t tell me to-”
“Christ,” Henry interrupted, “you’ve had weeks to argue and you’re choosing to do it now, here?”
Hans hissed air through his teeth. “I don’t want to argue , I want to…” He glanced around the room and then let his blue eyes fall back on Henry. His cheeks were wine warmed pink and he couldn’t seem to stop shifting his feet. “I want to be somewhere else.”
“Somewhere else?”
“We could be halfway to-”
“Stop. For the love of God, it is too late to have this conversation.” They should have, Henry knew; they should have talked about this days ago, weeks ago. It had been looming between them like so much wasted time. It was too late now for wants. A fortnight ago, they could have indulged themselves with could-bes and would-haves and dreams and regrets. They could have broken the silence to find peaceful shared secrecy instead of hiding themselves from each other. And now it was too late to revel in impossibilities. It hurt him, but Henry nodded and meant it when he ordered, “Pull yourself together and go marry that pretty girl and get your claim like you deserve.”
Hans tilted his head, pouting and eager to wallow. “Hanush isn’t going to give it to me,” he argued, missing the point. “He’s having too much fun running around and doing whatever the fuck he likes.”
“Runs in the family.”
“Ha, ha . Don’t pretend you’re ever going to get anything either, little bastard boy.”
Han’s cruelty was expected and undaunting tonight, but still Henry found himself frowning. “I have never asked for-”
“No, you never have!” Hans threw up his hands. “All you do is run around no better than your damn dog, doing whatever is asked of you by anybody, for nothing. No, fuck that, because I suspect even your Mutt has standards.”
Henry pressed himself harder against the door and bit his tongue to form his rebuttal carefully. His heart thud loudly in his throat and he was sure that he could hear whispers and laughter through the wooden door behind him. He’s drunk; he doesn’t mean it; he means it but it doesn’t matter.
“My father,” Henry started, but Hans had been waiting for him to speak just for the chance to talk over him.
“Your lord father owns ruined lands on an abandoned silver mine, has sworn fealty to a captive, absent King, and has never, not once, ever so much as hinted as trying to name you legitimate,” he accused. Hans spun himself around and stalked to the end of the room, grumbling under his breath.
Henry was struck grateful for the sudden space between them. He lifted both hands haltingly, as if trying to calm the protests of an upset mare. “My lord, you have to be more quiet,” he insisted. Hans’ words were biting and almost traitorous, nearly dangerous. “And we need to go back out there; to act normally. You’re going to cause a scandal.”
“A scandal! We’re all still at fucking war! War, and all they care about is marrying me off to some random wench! I’ll show you a scandal, Hal, just watch and see.”
Henry moved forward and grabbed both of Hans’ shoulders before Hans could get past him, shaking him hard enough to make him unsteady on his feet. The door was unlocked and unguarded behind him, but the heat melting his chest, the pain of fury, anger- pity and love- he couldn’t help but allow himself one moment not to fucking care about an unlocked door. Henry pulled Hans close and kissed him hard enough to feel the shock of teeth knocking together before he shoved him back just as suddenly.
“You are a goddamn noble and this is the way it’s going to be,” Henry told him firmly. “You’re going to go back out there and get married and earn your true title whether we have to fight for your inheritance or not, and you’re going to smile about it and toast to your future heir and get everything you’ve talked about owning since I fucking first met you.”
Hans mouth hung open, eyes wide, and Henry continued on, lowering his voice.
“And I’m going to be selfish, for once, since that’s what you seem to want from me so badly. I’m going to make sure they keep me as your bodyguard, your squire, your escort or whatever the Hell they will decide to call me this time. Because-” Henry remembered with a start where they were and cut himself off so quickly that he nearly bit his tongue to bleeding.
Silence suffocated the little room before Hans spoke. “Henry,” he said, his shoulders lowered.
They’d both wasted already so many chances to say any of this. Henry couldn’t help himself but pick his words back up and continue. “What else could I do? I could put up my sword and go back to the Rattay mill? Marry Theresa, move her up to the Priybyslavtiz rathaus and relearn what peace feels like?” Hans frowned and Henry stared at the edge of his shoulder and kept talking, his voice low but insistent, urgent, fast. “And I’ll be very happy, my lord , except for every time I have to go into town and see the tavern where we met, or the woods where I was unfortunate enough to rescue you the first time, or God forbid, I’m summoned to the castle and have to pass you in the streets.”
He was almost panting by the time he’d finish spitting every word. It would be an easy future, and it would be a nice future, and it would be the right, honorable future, because once upon a time he had made a promise and imagined something familiar and sweet. He dreamed of that sometimes and woke up unwillingly, cheeks warm and breaths soft. If he was going to spend his life with regrets and memories trailing him, he dreamed about also spending it safe and secure and quiet.
It was the nightmares, though, that filled his empty chest and left him to linger in the mornings on his straw-padded bed, alone. Nightmares of fire and nightmares of bells. Nightmares about reaching for something unseen and never closing the distance.
Would Theresa learn to wake him when the night terrors shook his hands or would it be safer for her to leave him be?
“What do you want?” Henry finally said, because, after all, his future now could only be built by the desires of other men.
He and Hans stood struck staring at each other for a long moment. Echoes of the musicians playing along the edge of the courtyard sung through the walls. Henry wanted to reach for him again, watching Hans go slowly pale underneath his booze-flushed face, but too many words and feelings lay blocking the way between them.
Before Henry could make his feet move, the door behind him opened. Henry, startled, spun to see nobody but a serving maid in gentle gray with her hand on the door and surprise in her eyes. “Oh,” she said, probably lying, probably having been listening almost with her ear against the door, probably on implicit orders of the Ladies in the courtyard, “I didn’t know you were in here. I was…” She gestured towards the patiently stacked tiers of chopped wood.
Hans cleared his throat, moving forward and past him before Henry could react. “Go on then,” he told the maid, “get to it.” He stalked back out into the hallway without sparing a glance back at Henry, heading towards his Uncle and asking loudly, irritated, “Well? Where the hell is the priest? Let’s get this over with.”
Henry nodded at the girl and stepped past her, forcing himself back out into the main courtyard. Steady notes from the hired harpist turned sickly in his ears and he nearly missed his attention called by yet another man who needed something from him. He clenched his teeth and then turned, forcing a smile that grew a little bit easier as he saw his own father gesturing for him.
“My apologies,” Henry said, joining him. “I didn’t hear you calling me at first.
“That’s alright. Your hands looked too empty. Here.” Radzig pressed a warm cup into Henry’s hand and forced him to hold it. “More trouble is always on the horizon. It’s best to drink and enjoy what you can.”
“More trouble,” Henry repeated gently. He put the goblet to his lips and tasted rich and bitter wine. It lingered warm over his tongue and he grasped the cup in both hands. Sir Kobyla Radzig- his real father and the man with the tightest hold on Henry’s damned leash. Radzig was dressed in easy finery wearing an easier grin, and it was easy to forget Hans’ cold words about him when he greeted his illegitimate son so kindly.
They stood in a faintly companionable silence for a moment while Henry allowed himself to enjoy the wine. Before he could decide not to, Henry asked, “Will Sir Hanush cede his lands now?”
Sir Radzig laughed quietly and glanced across the room towards his old friend. “Ah, Henry. It would be best for you to remain uninvolved in that particular skirmish.”
“I’ll be involved as long as I remain in his service. Unless you have other plans for me.” Henry cleared his throat. “Sir.”
He earned himself more attention, a sharp look. “You’ve done extremely well, son,” Radzig told him. “I am aware that we have asked more of you than could be expected from an ordinary blacksmith’s son.”
Henry found himself suddenly unable to meet Sir Radzig’s steel gaze and tilted his head to watch the way his wine swirled dark in the goblet. “Not quite an ordinary blacksmith,” he commented.
“Aye, true.” Radzig put a heavy hand against Henry’s shoulder. “And not quite an ordinary son. I know you’ll rise to any challenge your king may ask of you in the future, and so your next challenge from me is thus; learn to rest, Heny. Learn to take advantage of the slow moments.” He squeezed and then pushed Henry forward. “And more importantly, go and find somebody pretty to dance with.”
--
Food grew colder on the tables and the priest summoned the group. Hans had wanted Father Godwin to perform for them; Lord Hanush had advised Hans not to invite the Devil into his marriage before he had a chance to do it on his own. They had hired a holy priest to come visit and the man who stood before the nervous bride and groom was more than dressed the part in beautiful robes adorned with silver and gold. He spoke firm and friendly words, and Henry stared very intently at the ruby cross that hung from his neck so that he wouldn’t have to risk meeting Hans’ eye.
They’d be happy. Lady Jitka was very nice, and not half-terrible to look at; they’d met her at the beginning of their very swift (and staged) courting. She presented herself well and had greeted them kindly and Henry had himself convinced that she and Hans would be perfect inheritors of Rattay.
That conviction didn’t stop the ache in his chest, but another heavy mug of wine might.
--
It was late when Henry’s door opened, the sun having long left them in the light of torches. He had abandoned the party as soon as he knew that he wouldn’t be missed by anybody important.
Anybody, apparently, except for the man who threw himself into Henry’s private room (a gift) and locked the door behind him.
“Hans,” Henry greeted, half surprised, mostly drunk, sitting at his desk with his coat off and a book he couldn’t see in the dark spread before him. He pushed the chair out and climbed to his feet, palms warm and voice thick with drink.
Hans pushed into the room. “Henry, we have to talk about this.” He wiped his hands on his thighs and then shoved into Henry’s space to grab his hands.
“Jesus.” Henry shook his head. “It’s a little late now, don’t you think?” Hans’ fingers trembled in his and Henry curled his fingers tight over them, squishing them between his own.
Hans let his hands linger for a moment before he tugged them away and shook them out at his sides. “You’re alive, I’m alive. It’s not really too late, Hal, I just had to think about all this.”
“And what conclusion, exactly, have you come to? All by yourself?”
“Well, you see-” Hans straightened his spine and cleared his throat, shifting to face him again. He looked more composed than he had all evening, except for the wild expression on his face. “You and I are going to be just fine. Especially now.”
“Especially…? Hans. Did you leave your own party? What time is it?”
“I’m a noble, Henry, and-”
“I’m fucking aware, my lord Capon .”
“Don’t be like that. You’re not listening.”
“Speak to me, then.” His room was dark but Henry wasn’t about to move to light any candles. Something electric lingered between them; had long been lingering between them, ignited one desperate night and left so far to try and burn out on its own. Its fire had yet to leave Henry alone and now it only grew hotter. “What are you doing here?”
“My Uncle will finally release my holdings to me and I’ll have control over everything,” Hans told him. “You’ll be my official guard and you won’t have to worry about anything.”
“You’ve finally decided what you want then.”
“Henry.” Hans stepped closer and reached out to grab for Henry’s hands once again. He fussed with them, his grip uncertain. “What I want is for you to do exactly as you threatened. I want you stuck days north of me in your little rebuilt peasant town with your little peasant wife; I want Radzig to be done with you and send you off to live the rest of your life safe and unconcerned with the likes of us.”
Henry moved to take his hands back but Hans clung to them, the palms cold and clammy. Henry himself felt like he’d absorbed the heat of the furnace and was boiling alive inside. Hiis tongue stuck to the back of his teeth when he tried to speak and he came up with nothing.
Hans sucked in a sharp breath and then lowered himself, bending his knees awkwardly underneath himself to kneel before Henry. His expression twisted and he looked as uncomfortable as Henry suddenly felt, but he only gripped Henry’s hands tighter. “I want that,” he repeated, and he spoke so quietly that Henry had to lean down to hear him, “but I need to have you by my side, Henry. I can survive any meeting, any stupid petitions, any battle; I can survive this marriage if only I can turn and lean on you.”
“Get up,” Henry hissed, pulling on his hands.
“No, hold on, I’m trying to- Hal, I’m trying to make a point down here.”
“You’ve made it! Stand up.”
Hans on his knees made Henry feel unwell, alcohol threatening to come back up. He did not care for this reversal of roles. It was hard to argue that he was undeserving, but there was something wrong with him; a wound inside his chest that had been carved open in Skalitz and left to fester and rot since then. Something sickening grew there in that wet, empty hole, something that he had yet to peel out and cauterize clean. Father Godwin had told him once to invite the Spirit of their Lord into that space, but Henry knew that no amount of silver paid could make him clean enough for that.
It would kill him someday. Henry had truly made his peace with the idea.
Hans allowed himself to be helped stumbling back up to his feet. “What?” he joked, a small grin looking sickly on his pale face in the shadows. “You’re afraid that you’ll get your arse beat for coveting the groom this time?”
Henry closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath before letting it out with a low laugh. “Hans,” he wheezed.
“I know you don’t have control over any of this.” Hans pulled their joined hands into his chest. He tilted his head to make sure they were making pointed eye contact. “Let me handle it all. Trust me.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Henry said, and when Hans’s expression started to crash, added, “I do trust you.”
“Keep by my side. I’ll give you- how many are we at now? Three estates? Four? I may have to politely rehome somebody for the land, but-”
“Speak plainly, Hans,” Henry begged. Just say it. Put it in the open. Henry couldn’t; it wasn’t his place to cross those lines.
Maybe they had already crossed them once before, but words confessed under the eaves of death might not count when the sun rose on them in the morning. Henry held that memory in every move he made, but he wouldn’t ask the same of Hans. And yet, in the Lord’s wide blue eyes he saw reflections of their touch by firelight, felt Hans’ fingers on his begging for absolution.
Perhaps this would simply be something else that Henry could accomplish for his lord.
“I’ll stay at your side,” Henry promised, whispering in the dark. He freed one hand from Hans’ strangling embrace and slid it upward to cup his cheek. “Hans, I’m yours.”
“You’re mine,” Hans echoed in a voice hollow with vague disbelief. He leaned heavy into Henry’s palm, eyes half-lidded and low. “You belong to me.”
“I promise.”
Henry kept his promises. The weight of the idea hung thick in the air. He meant it with everything he had, wished it etched into his bones, swore it aloud for the blessed God above to hear and witness.
“I promise,” he repeated again, and this time they finally fell together in a real kiss, a slow joining of lips to bind this vow forever between them.
Hans sighed warmly over Henry’s face and Henry pulled him closer, kissed him harder, hoped his intent was clear in the press of his lips and the warmth of his hand. I am in love with you , he thought, hoping it was obvious; the words would curdle on his tongue if he tried to put them to voice. They held each other closer, hands sliding over their clothing with soft noises in the dark.
A bark from outside the window brought the real world back into the room and Henry forced himself to pull away. He could see this future in front of him; a future of stolen moments cut short constantly by those surrounding them. It would be alright. Henry would keep them safe and learn to be content with this. His heart knew how to yearn for revenge; he would teach it all over again to hope for something better, something true.
Maybe this could heal him.
Maybe this could heal them both.
Henry thought that the Lord might forgive him if he prayed for this; he hoped the Almighty had grown tired enough by now of his prayers for violence.
Gently, Henry drew away and Hans, content that his urgency had been heard, nodded slowly. He smoothed the fabric over his chest absently and then turned towards the door. “Forgive me,” Hans pleaded without looking back, his hand trembling on the door latch.
“Go,” Henry told him. “There’s nothing to forgive.”