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The pond lay calm and glittering under the bright sun, and the surface only broke with little ripples when a fish caught a fly or when a gentle breeze swayed the reeds. A frog croaked somewhere close by. It was a beautiful vision on a beautiful summer’s day, and Henry was staring stiff-faced out at it all.

“A fine day for a swim, don’t you think, blacksmith?” Hans said lightly, trying to crack Henry’s stony facade.  

Henry gave a grunt as a reply and wrapped his arms around his torso as if he were naked and cold.

Hans kept it up. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

“Yeah, well…” Henry trailed off. He shrugged his shoulder; the bad one.

That sent a sting to the back of Hans’ throat. For a moment he heard metal clanging and hooves rattling against the ground, shouting and strangled cries.

“That won’t be a problem now, though, will it? No fear of bleeding to death this time.” Hans said it with emphasis, making it out to be ridiculous, but he had a pit opening inside him all the same.   

“It hurts just looking at it,” Henry said stubbornly and waved his hand towards the water, and then quickly shoved it back under his armpit.  

Henry’s last swim lay like a rock in Hans’ stomach. In a way, it was all Captain Thomas’ fault – he had suggested the inn was subpar and that the journey to Trosky would be too far. Hans had only done what he thought was best. “It was their own fault!”, “Making camp in such an unprotected place is suicide”, “Only a fool would do that.” That idiot Svatya Thrush’s words kept sounding in his mind, even now, weeks later. Hans had only followed the advice he had received. During the span of a couple of days, Captain Thomas had both almost condemned him to death and almost saved his life.  

“This will save you from a lot of potential pain, Henry. You’ll just have to ‘dive in’, as it were!”

Henry scowled at Hans through the corner of his eye, but Hans could see he was cracking slightly.

The day before, a messenger rode into Rattay, and in the evening, Hans told Henry that the next morning, he was going to teach Henry how to swim. It had not been a suggestion; it was an order, and Henry closed his eyes to the command the way he did when he didn’t want to be too obvious about rolling them. Hans let it slide because right after that he said: “Yes, sir”, and right after that they managed to hide away in a dark nook for a little while.

Urgency crept into Hans’ actions. “Come on, Henry,” he said. Hans was ultimately the one to decide, after all.  

Hans kept his eyes down while they undressed—mostly. He snuck a glimpse of Henry’s arse while he pulled off his braies and then lingered his gaze on the arrow scar on his leg. Surely there was plausible deniability there, admiration for battle scars and not admiration for solid and manly thighs.    

Hans used every bit of willpower he had not to slap Henry on the arse as he walked past him to the edge of the water.

Hans looked at Henry expectantly.

Henry looked back, his lip curled in distaste. “I told myself I wasn’t doing this again.”

A hawk shrieked from over a treetop some paces away.

“You’re being a wimp, Henry!” Hans made a motion in the air with his hand as if to wave his worries away. “Look now.”

Hans stepped into the cool water slowly, feeling the slippery rocks and mud with his feet until the water came up to his navel. “See, it’s not that deep!”

“It’s deeper out there.” Henry nodded towards a spot in the water behind Hans.

“Well, yes, but don’t go out there then, you silly boy.”

Henry rolled his eyes properly then. He was a silly boy—a grumpy, silly boy. Hans’ heart warmed up with fondness inside his chest.

“Look, Henry, if you manage to drown here, I will be impressed.” Hans spread his arms out. “I shall speak at your funeral, ‘May he find peace in God’s kingdom, drowned in a couple of inches of pond water’.” Speaking out loud of Henry’s funeral left a sour taste in his mouth, and he regretted even thinking about it the moment he said it, but his smile stayed on.

“At least I’ll leave you with a favourable impression of me,” Henry said flatly.

Hans’ guts twisted inside him. He kept smiling. “I’d rather you didn’t leave me at all, in fact. So! Here we are. This whole excursion is to prevent your untimely death, and if that isn’t enough of a motivator, my untimely death.”

Henry looked at him for a while, looked down at the water for a while, and then he sighed. And Hans knew he had won.

“Audentes fortuna iuvat, Henry!”

“Audentes fortuna fuck off,” Henry grumbled and stepped into the pond.

“Now, now,” Hans scolded, and Henry looked at him with large, down-turned eyes. He always did look a little sad unless he expressly showed something else, and it always made it so horribly difficult not to let Henry have his way in every and all situations.

Henry eventually and begrudgingly reached the spot where Hans stood.

“That’s my boy.” Hans clasped his hand on Henry’s shoulder in a comradely fashion, got overtaken by an urge to prolong the touch, couldn’t help himself, and stroked his back as well, directly over the scar from that God forsaken arrow.

Henry swallowed and then nodded.

A large frog splashed into the water and swam across a few feet from them, expertly kicking its long, webbed feet. 

“Look at that!” Hans said brightly. “That’ll be you in no time. In fact, that’s exactly how you’re supposed to do it. See how it’s kicking?”

They both followed the frog with their eyes as it disappeared into the reeds.

“Easy if you’re a frog, I suppose.”

“Then today, you are a frog.”  

“If you say so.”

A fly buzzed around Hans, so he swatted at it, and it flew over to Henry to avoid Hans’ hands. It whirred around Henry’s head, but he didn’t seem to notice it. Hans waved it away from Henry as well. “Wretched beast.”

“Aye,” Henry breathed distantly.

This whole thing was wretched. The urgency, the waning summer, the fact that Henry couldn’t swim on his own.

“Alright.” Hans turned to Henry. “Try to lie down.” Hans put his hand on Henry’s neck, and Henry leant into it.

“Oh, this is so unnatural,” Henry complained, his muscles tense as he slowly got lowered into the water. “God above, hear my prayer—”

“Calm down, you’ll get used to it,” Hans interrupted. “Now…” Hans placed his other hand under Henry’s lower back. “Push your bum up, straighten out your back.”

Henry obeyed, and after a couple of tries and a fluffy thistle seed in the eye later, he was floating on his back while Hans hovered his hands right underneath him. His breathing was a little unsteady, but he was floating all on his own.  

“Good job! Now only the swimming part remains!”

Henry snorted, and that made him lose his balance enough for his eyes to widen. Hans caught him.

“No panicking. I’ve got you.”

“I’m not panicking…”

Hans slid his hand down and grabbed Henry’s full buttock. Henry gasped and threw his arm out, so it slammed into the water and sent droplets flying everywhere. Inelegantly, he got to his feet.

“Jesus, Hans!” Henry sounded scandalised, but then his face broke into a grin. He scooped the water in front of him up and away and created a wave that splashed over Hans’ upper body. Hans immediately retaliated and promptly forgot about the swimming lessons.

Hans laughed and shrieked and played with Henry like the child he hadn’t been able to be in such a horribly long time. He was sure he could have kept it going for the entire afternoon if it hadn’t been for the shout that put an end to the fun.     

“Hey, you lads! Don’t create such a commotion; I’m fishing here! You’re scaring the fucking fish away!”

It was a fisherman on a little pier. An annoyed one.

Hans stood up straight in the water and put on a bright smile. “Good day, fisherman! I do apologise; we will stay over here and keep the commotion to a minimum.”

The fisherman opened his mouth as if to answer, then he scrunched up his eyebrows, and then his face went pale. “Lord Capon?”

“Indeed!” Hans yelled back.

“I’m the one who should apologise, my lord. I didn’t know…”

“Do not worry, fisherman. Should we hinder your fishing today, I’m sure we can get you compensation. You see, I am teaching my bodyguard how to swim. We cannot have me drown just because my bodyguard grew up in a field, can we?”

Hans caught Henry closing his eyes in his peripheral vision.

The fisherman took a long pause. “Certainly not, my lord,” he said, bowing.

“So, Henry!” Hans turned to Henry and clasped his hands together in a show of preparation. Henry regarded him with a worried little wrinkle between his eyebrows. “I’ll demonstrate. Look now.” Hans pushed forward into the water with the most perfect breaststrokes he could manage. He swam back and forth in front of Henry a couple of times, so he had the chance to pick up on the moves. Hans’ skin prickled where he felt Henry’s eyes trail across his body.

When Hans stood up, Henry was ogling him hungrily.

“Did you catch any of that?” Hans said, pulling a hand through his wet hair.

A sly smile spread across Henry’s face. “Aye, all of it.”

Hans curled his toes into the muddy ground. This was a terrible place for a stiff prick. “Good! So you’ll be able to recreate it for me now, then?”

Henry’s expression turned sour, and Hans laughed.

The proper swimming lesson began, and Hans shouted out encouragement like: “No wonder you can’t swim, you’ve been taking swimming lessons from Mutt”, “You look like a dying bug!” and “Remind me never to dance with you, your coordination is near lethal.”

Hans spent most of the time keeping a hand or two under Henry’s sternum to keep him afloat should he lose his technique. He was catching on to the moves but had trouble combining them properly. Hans didn’t mind; he took every chance he could get to feel up Henry’s body under the water.

Hans finally let him go, and he swam alone for a few strokes. When he faltered, he stopped, stood up and turned around to face Hans with a perplexed expression on his face. Hans threw his hands in the air, cheering.

A feeling of loss knotted in Hans’ chest, but he swallowed it down.

“Well done, Henry! You’re finally getting it, you turnip picker, you.”

Henry shook his head, long-suffering, but a self-satisfied smile warmed his face. He brushed water off his hands and began his return to Hans, on his feet this time.

“This turnip picker is good for more than just—”

Then Henry was gone. Disappeared under the surface with a faint huff and a splash in the water.

Within the blink of an eye, Hans was with him and hauling him up without remembering how he got there. Henry broke the surface with a rattling gasp followed by deep coughs. He was clinging to Hans’ arms with an iron grip.  

“You’re alright, that’s alright,” Hans said with a little laugh, his heart hammering in his chest. “See? You can stand here, no need to swim—” He had tried to let Henry go, but he just gripped him tighter. “Henry?”

Henry didn’t respond—his chest was heaving with heavy breaths; he gasped like he had been drowning, and it didn’t seem to ease. If anything, the breathing became quicker and shallower the longer it went on.

“Henry, you need to calm down.”

Henry whimpered, and water ran out of his nose. He sounded pained, and it pierced through Hans like a dagger.  

Hans stroked his hand across Henry’s face to wipe water out of his eyes. He pushed Henry’s hair out of his face as well, and then… he caught something behind him in his vision. The fisherman. He had put everything down and was watching them.

“Alright, that’s it. We’re getting you out,” Hans said.

“No, I… I…” and there it stuck. He stammered the word a couple more times, but he had fallen into some fever-like shivers that prevented him from forming words. “Can’t m-move.”

“Henry, please, come on.” Hans grabbed Henry’s arm firmly, pulling at him, trying to coax him to go.

Getting Henry to move when he didn’t want to was no easy feat. He was solid as an oak door, and stubborn as a rusted lock. That was on the best of days. This was not the best of days.  

He could see everything—the fisherman. Henry’s hold on Hans’ arm. Hans’ hands on Henry’s body. How close they stood to each other. He had probably seen Hans’ stolen looks at Henry when they undressed and his intimate touches in the water too. The fisherman’s eyes were boring into them, scrutinising their every move and seemingly looking right into Hans’ mind. The fisherman’s eyes were blue, he could see it all the way from the other side of the water, they were that clear – like the pond, or the sky, peering right through whatever defence Hans thought he had put up in front of this, of it all. Hans’ heart was pounding in his chest—the fisherman could probably see that too.

It felt like being stuck in a tiny room with no way out. It was like being stuck in Maleshov. It was more like being stuck under that beam in Nebakov.

When Hans had been panicking in Maleshov, and Henry had come to get him out, and he was insisting upon going through the tunnel, what had calmed him then was Henry’s supportive words and reassurance that they would find a solution. When Hans was stuck under that beam in Nebakov, what had helped then was… getting out from under the beam.

Hans gripped Henry’s arms tight and clenched his teeth, just so he wouldn’t hug him—kiss him. He wanted to; it hurt how much he wanted to. His chest clenched painfully around his heart. Just a kiss on the cheek, the forehead. Perhaps he could have, had Henry simply been one of his pals, and only that, it wouldn’t have been completely out of place – but he was not, so he drew a deep breath and settled on giving Henry’s arms a squeeze.

“Henry, it’s alright, you’re safe. If we just walk this way, just a few feet, we’ll be out of the water in no time.” 

Henry scrunched up his face as if he was in pain, straining with the effort of trying and failing to control his hiccoughing breaths. He stomped his foot and groaned in frustration. “Oh, God. Help,” he rasped in a weak and wavering voice.

A powerful urge to protect made Hans’ eyes burn. “I’m trying—”

“Are you two alright, sir?”

Hans jumped at the sound. He ripped his arm out of Henry’s grasp. It was the fisherman; he had put down everything and was standing up and stretching his neck out to see them. He was seeing it all.

“Yes, yes, all’s well!” Hans stuck a polite smile on his face. “We’ll be leaving now, so you’ll get your pond and your fish all to yourself. Lord be with you, fisherman!”

There was a terrible pause. It was long and full of all of Hans’ regrets. Hans had been looking too freely, touching too freely; he had been a fucking idiot is what he had been. Two eyes could so easily become four ears, or ten or fifty, and then everyone would know.

“And with you, sir.” The fisherman sat down slowly again.

Henry had wrapped his arms around himself after Hans tore himself away to speak to the fisherman.

Hans quieted his voice to a murmur so only Henry could hear. “Henry, for the love of God, you are safe. You can stand here no problem. See?” Hans touched Henry’s feet with his, pushing them into the ground underneath.

Henry nodded jaggedly.

“Alright.” Hans took a deep breath, filling his body with fresh air to stop the swaying of the ground underneath him. “You’re safe. I’m safe,” he told the both of them. “Just fucking breathe, damn it.” Hans took another deep breath again, and this time Henry followed.

Something shifted, and Henry’s breathing slowly but steadily calmed. His muscles relaxed, and his posture loosened up.

Hans blinked and blinked as he could finally take a proper breath again himself.

Then Henry sank together and placed his forehead heavily on Hans’ shoulder. All Hans’ muscles tensed up again. Are you fucking stupid?! Shot through Hans’ mind like an arrow, but he kept the words in. Instead of saying something he would regret, he wriggled out from under his head, grasped his elbow and tugged him towards solid ground.

“Let’s go,” he ordered.

They got up on land again, fighting against their own weight as they emerged from the water. Henry swayed.

“I just… I just need to sit down—” Henry’s knees gave way, and he slumped down, “for a bit.” He sighed and put his head on his rattling knees.

Henry sat dripping and crumpled on the ground. He was covered in goosebumps, shivering and clenching his hands.

They didn’t have the luxury of hanging around for long, and Hans needed to take charge. “I think we should get going, Henry.” He felt awful.

“Hm?” Henry hummed, staring out into nothing in front of him. Not quite ready yet then.

Hans picked up a linen cloth from their packed bag, sat down next to Henry and threw the linen over him. Hans rubbed circles into his back and arms, trying to dry him off and comfort him at the same time without it seeming obvious. “I think we should get going, Henry,” Hans said again, quietly and gently, close to his ear.  

“Aye,” Henry said mostly in a whisper. 

Hans tried to wring most of the moisture out of the linen before getting dressed; Henry clumsily did the same right next to him. When they were done, Hans eyed the bag, the bag Henry had packed for them with the linens and the wineskins and the bread rolls, and his fingers spasmed, wanting to reach out for it. 

The fisherman was still at his spot, mundanely trying to catch fish. A bathmaid had emerged on the other end of the pond laundering clothes. Two Talmberg guards rode past, and a figure emerged from the castle gates.

A hawk’s call pierced the air again. Like a bell in a tower, it rang out around them. A chill went down Hans’ back.  

“Henry, get the bag, and we’re off.” It came out too harshly.

“Aye,” Henry said, sluggishly picked up the bag and carried it towards the horses. Almost there, Hans took Henry’s elbow to support him and give him a subtle helping hand to get onto Pebbles.

“I’ll manage, sir.” It was polite and flat. It fucking stung, but Hans let go, and Henry got both the bag and himself up on the horseback. 

Hans climbed up as well. “Alright, off to Rattay,” Hans said and clicked his tongue to get his horse going. Pebbles followed dutifully after. 

The ride back to Rattay felt longer than usual. His horse knew the way, so Hans kept his eyes on Henry. He looked pale and tired, but he stayed in his saddle the whole way. 

When they reached the courtyard of Pirkstein, Hans declared loudly to no one in particular that Henry should join him in his chambers to help with picking out clothes for some made-up event. Henry followed him like a docile horse on a lead.

As soon as the door to his room clicked shut, Hans pulled Henry into his arms and hugged him hard, trying to pour everything into the embrace that he had been holding back since the pond.

Henry stood with his arms crossed over his chest, squeezed between them, keeping their chests from touching. He eventually let his head fall onto Hans’ shoulder.  

“Fuck, Henry, I’m so sorry.” Hans stroked the back of Henry’s head and listened to his shaky breathing.

When they pulled away, Henry’s eyelashes were stuck together with moisture, and he was avoiding Hans’ gaze.

Hans bolted the door shut. Sometimes small, enclosed spaces weren’t so bad. Sometimes they provided shelter from prying eyes.

“Not your fault.” Henry cleared his throat and subtly tried to swipe at the corner of his eye.

“Sit down,” Hans commanded, and gently shoved Henry towards the bed. Then he sat down beside him.

Henry wiped and touched his face as if there were bugs crawling all over it.

“You know what, Henry? You don’t have to learn to swim. It’s not like there are a lot of big lakes around here in the Sasau region, anyway.”

Henry looked over at him with wide eyes.

“But you’re right! I need to learn to swim. What if we’re travelling? What if we’re in another part of the world where there are lots and lots of big lakes, or by the sea! And you’re in danger, drowning, and… I can’t swim?” Henry’s breathing was picking up again.

Hans was a strong swimmer; he could swim well enough for the both of them. He would have dragged Henry across that lake by Trosky if Henry hadn’t managed it himself. If anything, it was Hans who needed to keep practising his swimming, so that Henry never would have to again.

“I was only joking when I said that. I just wanted you to get in the water,” Hans said carefully. “Stupid,” he added, mostly to himself.

“No, that’s my job, keeping you safe. You put the fear of God into me, my lord.”

“Henry…” Hans furrowed his brows at Henry while the guilt gnawed at him.

“Hans,” Henry said with determination.

“Yes.” Hans sighed. “I’m sorry it turned out like this.”

“What? I’m the one who should be apologising. Talk about overreaction.”

Hans shook his head. None of this was Henry’s fault. It was all Hans—and that damned letter he got from the messenger the day before. His heart did a terrible little leap at the thought.

“We can try again if you want to,” Hans said frantically.

“I want to.” Henry stared out into the room for a moment. “Maybe not tomorrow, though.”

“No, not tomorrow.” The corner of Hans’ mouth tugged up, for the blink of an eye before it sank down again. “I’ll help you if you want, but if you never learn how to swim… I’ll be fine. I promise you I will never drown, and I won’t ever let you drown. And—!”

Henry had tried to protest, but Hans cut him off.

“The next time—I’m fucking taking the bag.”

Henry’s jaw clenched, working on something.

“Are you really going to carry sacks, my lord?” Henry finally said.

Hans let out a breath through his nose.

“Well, if it comes to that—yes.”

“It’s alright, I can carry bags for you; it’s no bother, really. You’re carrying… other responsibilities.” 

It was like they shared the same mind right that moment, and they both thought of the letter. 

It had just been a stupid bag, but it felt like it weighed more than its actual contents. Henry had carried a lot of bags; to him, the one by the pond was just another one, but to Hans it was a terrible moment that was tearing at his conscience, pulling him in different directions. This was what it was going to be like going forward. Hans choosing not to carry bags for Henry. Hans choosing to be by Jitka’s side instead of Henry’s. People watching—so Hans would choose everything and everyone other than Henry, and Henry would say, ‘it’s alright, it’s no bother, really’, but it was a bother—to Hans it was a bother, and an unjust tragedy.

Something was balancing on Hans’ tongue that he needed some time to form properly, but Henry cut the thought short.

“We’ll figure it out. It was just… I was being stupid.”

“Henry, please, you weren’t stupid…”

“Like you said, it was only a couple of inches of water… it’s just that I thought it suddenly got very deep, and that I would fall down and disappear, and… I didn’t want you to come after me and disappear too.”

Hans swallowed a lump in his throat and slapped his hand on Henry’s shoulder. “You underestimate my capabilities as an excellent swimmer, Henry!” Hans said in a light tone. “I would’ve got us out of there even if it was deep, even if it reached all the way to Hell, I would’ve dragged you out.” 

“I wouldn’t want you to risk it.” 

“Honestly? I don’t care what you want in that regard. It’s the least I could do after all you’ve done for me.” Henry started a protest, but Hans continued. “As a noble,” he enunciated clearly, “it is my duty to repay my debts.” Hans arched his eyebrow slightly and looked at Henry, who pressed his lips together; there was a hint of amusement in his expression. “Especially to a friend,” Hans continued more softly. “Especially to you.”

They held each other’s gaze, and images of their past seemed to pass between them; all the times they had got each other out of harm’s way and what overwhelming emotion the actions were rooted in. Hans thought of Henry cutting down Cumans to free Hans. He had seen him kill at least half a dozen, even though Henry insisted there had only been two. He thought of Henry carrying him out of Talmberg castle as he was bleeding with an arrow in his arse. He thought of Henry showing up in the nick of time with Captain Thomas draped over his shoulders while Hans felt the rough rope scrape against his throat. He thought of lying on the ground, the world swimming before him as Henry held his head and spoke to him, and then defended him against Zizka. He thought of wasting away in that god forsaken room in Maleshov when Henry appeared like a shadow in the night, having snuck in unseen all for Hans to refuse to go through the tunnel, forcing Henry to kill the guards in the courtyard just to get Hans safely out of there. He thought of all the times Henry swarmed around him in battle, eyes wild, as he struck down soldiers approaching Hans. He thought of Henry turning around to kiss him again that time in Suchdol… 

“I would drag your noble arse out of danger every day for the rest of my life, and it wouldn’t bother me one bit.” Henry’s expression changed. He held his head high with something akin to determination on his face. He drew a deep breath. “I— I would do it because I—”

Hans crushed his lips to Henry’s, shutting him up, overwhelmed with emotion. He couldn’t hear it right now, not with that letter in his drawer and the day rapidly approaching with her. Whatever it was he was going to say, he couldn’t hear it right now, especially if it was what he thought it was. Those words may have brought him to make decisions that could turn the trajectory of his life right around. He needed Henry to shut the fuck up. 

The kiss was searing against their cool lips; it was like the pond still lingered in their skin.

Hans wished he could hold him close like this forever. He thought it like a prayer before he broke the kiss, just as abruptly as he had started it.

Henry sucked in a breath of air as he chased after the empty space where Hans had been.

Hans dug his fingers into his own knees and looked, like a coward, at the floor. He cleared his throat, every muscle and every sinew straining against what he was going to say.

“Maybe… maybe I should let you go, Henry. Hm? Release you from my service so you could make a life for yourself. A proper one.”

“What?” It sounded like the air had left Henry’s body.

“Marry a lovely lass. Have a bunch of children. Become the best blacksmith in whatever town you choose. What would you say to that?” Hans slowly looked up, first moving his head, then his eyes.

Henry’s face had gone pale. He looked almost sickly, like someone who belonged in a bed like this, covered in pelts.

Henry’s lip twitched. “I would say— I would— I…” he trailed off, his voice disappearing. “I would do as you said, of course I would.” He paused, and when he started up again, his chin was quivering. “But, sir,” he said harshly, “I would never forgive you.”

Hans felt shaken, like he had fallen down into a deep hole and knocked the breath out of himself. He didn’t know what he had expected. Hans was tricking himself if he thought Henry was only following him around because of his station; he hadn’t done that for quite some time, if he ever had. For a long time, longer than he had been certain of what he saw, Hans had looked into Henry’s eyes and seen his own emotions reflected there.

There would always be a fisherman watching, or a bathmaid or a town’s guard. Jitka or God. 

“Then we’ll just have to figure it out somehow.”

He met Henry’s eyes properly for the first time in a while—they were big and wet and filled with resolve. The sight spread in Hans with a squeezing affection; it tightened his chest until it almost hurt. It set off the urge to weep.

Henry put his hand on Hans’, and Hans was immediately transported back to Suchdol, to that horrid little room with one tiny window and a fireplace and Henry and himself and his hammering heart. 

“We will. Together.” Henry squeezed his hand tightly in his. 

Henry, the sap—the optimist, the man with a will forged of steel. It was catching—Hans believed him, at least for now. Henry was a fool to be so certain, and Hans was a fool to fall for it. Though Henry tended to be right. He had some sort of magical power, that man, an ability to figure it out.

Yet again, Hans kissed Henry. He kissed him and kissed him and kissed him again. All until a sound stopped him.

Henry’s stomach growled.

“Oh, Henry, are you hungry?”

“Aye, a bit,” Henry admitted, looking charmingly bashful.

Hans laughed and laughed with a lightness he had never thought would return after the messenger had appeared with that letter.

There were many problems to deal with. Henry really should learn to swim. Hans had to marry a stranger, and he could only hope that Hanush kept to his part of the bargain and gave up his property once and for all. Hans and Henry had chosen each other this day, and they would have to deal with the consequences, but first—supper.