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The garden glows under the last light of the setting sun, every leaf edged in gold. Jessica closes her eyes and begins to count, letting her voice travel across the place, enough to reassure two little feet that she is still playing.
“...eight... nine... ten.”
She opens her eyes slowly, turning in the wrong direction on purpose. Her gaze slides past the most obvious tuft of dark hair sticking above the hedge. His shoes are practically announcing his hiding place, and she can see the faint tremor of Paul trying, and failing, to contain his laughter.
She could find him in a heartbeat. Instead, she strolls past as though she suspects nothing, listening to the tiny intake of breath he makes when she comes near.
Then she pivots and catches him from behind. “Got you!”
Paul squeals, dissolving into giggles as his arms loop around her neck. “You saw me!”
“I always do.” She presses her cheek to his, enjoying his warmth. “Because I’m your mother, and that means I will always find you.” She kisses his cheek.
“Again, mommy! Count again!”
Jessica sighs dramatically. “Very well. One more time.”
She closes her eyes once more, listening to how his feet slap the stone path, then scatter toward the fountain. She gives him more than enough time, before opening her eyes.
But this time, he is not hiding.
He stands perfectly still, small hands gripping the edge of the fountain, gaze fixed downward. His whole body leans forward as if the water itself is calling to him.
Jessica approaches quietly, softening her steps on the grass. She slips her arms around him from behind. “Caught you.”
He jumps, but the sound that bursts out is laughter. “Mommy!”
Yet immediately his attention returns to the water. Jessica leans in, curious. At the bottom of the fountain rests a pale flower, one that must have drifted down from an upper terrace. The clear water makes it look ghostly, suspended.
Paul’s fingers tighten on the stone. “Look. It’s so pretty,” Jessica nods and kneels behind him, letting his head tip back against her shoulder. “Maybe… maybe I could take it.” Paul hesitates, “For Gurney.”
Jessica blinks once, twice, masking the sting beneath a laugh. “For Gurney?”
Paul nods, “Gurney loves flowers. He told me once, when we walked together. He said some are good for medicine. Maybe this one is good too. I want to give it to him.”
Jessica feels her heart pull in two different directions. First, amusement; because the image is undeniably sweet, her four-year-old son offering a flower to a grizzled soldier. But beneath that softness is the sting of something else: Paul thinking first not of her, but of Gurney Halleck.
She opens her mouth, ready to offer to fetch the flower for him—even if the gift isn’t for her, she still wants to honor his wish. But before she can speak, a voice breaks across the garden.
“Paul!” Leto calls, warm and bright, using that tone meant only for their son.
Paul’s head snaps around, his whole face lighting up. Jessica watches as the thought of the flower dissolves and he bolts toward the sound, calling “Daddy!” back as he runs.
Her smile tilts when she notices the figure beside the Duke. Gurney Halleck stands at his usual post, his scarred face unreadable, until Paul spots him. Suddenly, the boy’s cry of “Daddy!” falters and disappears.
Paul changes course mid-run, veering straight toward Gurney, barely sparing his father a glance.
“Gurney!” he shrieks, beaming.
Jessica bites back a laugh. Poor Leto.
Gurney’s expression flickers with guilt, but the moment Paul collides with his legs, he drops to his knees. Paul throws himself into his arms, and Gurney lifts him high, swinging him as the boy squeals in delight, hands gripping his shoulders.
“Gurney, you are here!”
“Oh, look at this little pup,” Gurney mutters, unable to hide his smile. He hoists Paul even higher, settling him on his broad shoulders. Paul clings to his face for balance, legs kicking with joy.
Leto halts beside them, placing his hands on his hips. “I see how it is. A duke betrayed by his own son and his right-hand man.”
Paul only laughs harder, hugging Gurney’s head.
“My apologies, my lord,” Gurney says.
Jessica crosses her arms and snorts, noticing Leto’s exaggerated sulk and Gurney’s helpless grin.
Leto clears his throat, attempting a sternness that convinces no one. “And what were you up to, hm? Hiding from your mother?” He glances toward Jessica, winking at her.
Paul’s eyes go wide. “Oh! Wait! Gurney, put me down!”
Gurney obliges, setting him down carefully. The moment Paul’s feet hit the ground, he darts back toward the fountain. “The flower!”
Leto moves to call after him—“Careful!”—but the warning comes too late. Paul’s foot slips on the stone, and he pitches forward, hitting the ground on his hands and knees.
A sharp cry tears out of him, high and piercing.
Jessica’s heart seizes. She and Leto both lunge forward, but Paul sobs out only one name—desperate and broken: “Gurney!”
The plea rips through the air, and Gurney is already moving. In less than a breath he scoops Paul up, cradling him against his chest as though the boy were made of glass. Paul sobs harder now, face wet, mouth open. His knee is scraped—blood welling bright against pale skin.
“Easy, my lord,” Gurney soothes, sitting on the nearest bench with Paul in his lap. One arm wraps around the boy’s back, while the other hand rubs at the injured knee. “It’s not so bad. Look—just a scratch.”
Paul hiccups through his tears, trembling, and presses his damp cheek against Gurney’s chest.
Jessica stops beside them, Leto close at her shoulder. Her first instinct is to reach out, to claim her son and fold him into her arms—but the boy has made his choice, and she respects it. More than that, she understands it, because Gurney’s hand is steady.
“There, pup,” Gurney whispers, cleaning the blood with a handkerchief, while his free hand is brushing Paul’s curls. “You’ve had worse playing with Duncan. This is nothing. You’ll be jumping puddles in no time.”
The sobs lose strength, turning into sniffles. Paul finally peers up, eyes red and shining. “Really?”
“Absolutely,” Gurney answers, “You are still in one piece.” He lifts Paul and turns him so they face each other. “Can you give me a smile, my lord?”
Paul lets the corner of his mouth twitch upward into the tiniest smile.
“There it is,” Gurney grins back.
Jessica relaxes. Beside her, Leto lets out a laugh, shaking his head. The storm has passed—replaced by the bright, ridiculous sunshine of a boy soothed by the soldier he adores.
Jessica knows how strong their bond is. She cannot deny the pang it stirs in her, yet the warmth that rises with it too. Paul may be her son, and Leto’s heir, but he is also Gurney’s boy.
And perhaps, she thinks, that is exactly what he needs.
Their child has no real playmates, his status and security see to that. He deserves someone outside his parents to lean on, someone constant and loyal beyond measure.
Within minutes, the knee is forgotten. When play calls, Paul forgets his tears like any other child.
Gurney sets him on the grass and ruffles his hair. Paul trots after him, shadowing his every step. Jessica watches as they wander through the garden—Paul’s short legs working furiously to keep up with the soldier’s longer stride. Whenever Gurney points to a plant or a carved stone figure, Paul tugs insistently at his sleeve, demanding explanation after explanation.
“They look like a pair,” Jessica says.
Leto chuckles, “More like a master and his duckling.”
Paul follows Gurney back to the fountain. Gurney crouches to show him something—Jessica cannot hear what—and Paul nods, as if he's receiving great wisdom, even though he is four.
Jessica claps her hands, feeling guilty for interrupting. “Paul, come here. It’s time to eat.”
Paul gives Gurney a hug before dashing to her side, catching her hand. Leto takes his other, and together they begin the walk to the castle.
Paul skips once, then again. On the third skip, Leto and Jessica lift him high between them, his feet sailing off the ground.
“Again!” he shouts.
They do it again, letting him land on the stones before lifting him once more. Jessica feels joy bloom in her chest. For all the weight of politics and all the shadows that threaten their House, this moment is untouchable—only theirs.
She glances at Leto, catching his eyes already on her, and they share the same unspoken thought: how lucky they are.
Inside, the dining hall is lively. Soldiers crowd the tables, voices rising and falling with the ease of men at rest. Duncan Idaho waves as they enter, and Gurney takes his seat beside him.
Jessica sits with Paul across from Duncan and Gurney. Servants bring trays, and soon the rich smell of roasted fish and baked roots fills the air. Paul, however, is not eating. His spoon lies untouched, resting in the bowl. His gaze drifts from Duncan to Gurney.
Jessica nudges him gently. “Paul. Eat, dearest.”
He doesn’t respond. His fingers curl around the edge of the table, while his eyes take in every gesture the two soldiers make: their grins, their jokes, the effortless camaraderie between them. His expression is pure admiration.
Leto notices. So he leans across the table, spears a piece of fish, and offers it to his son. Paul opens his mouth automatically, accepting the bite without ever looking away.
At last, the meal winds down.
Suddenly, voices call down the table: “A song, Halleck!” “Play something for us, Gurney!”
Paul bounces in his seat. “Yes! Sing, Gurney!”
Jessica hides her laugh behind a sip of wine. Her son is glowing as if expecting the soldier to conjure the sunrise.
Someone passes Gurney his baliset. His hands settle on the instrument like greeting an old friend; the first notes hush the hall. The tune he chooses is simple, a ballad of seas and safe harbors, fit for all ears.
Jessica focuses her attention on Paul.
Her son sits rapt, chin propped on both hands, mouth slightly open. When Gurney’s eyes lift at the final verse, ‘for the little lord who braves the storm,’ Paul squeals and cheers so hard his whole body shakes.
“Mommy, that was for me! Gurney, sing again,” he commands, already issuing orders despite still being a baby.
The hall explodes into laughter.
Leto lifts a brow, “You’ve been requested, Gurney. Will you oblige?”
Gurney chuckles, setting the baliset aside. “For him? Aye. But it’ll have to wait ’til tomorrow night. Right now he needs sleep, not serenades.”
Paul’s lower lip juts out in protest, but when Gurney crosses the hall and hoists him onto his hip, the boy brightens as though nothing unfortunate had ever occurred.
Jessica rises, slipping her hand into Leto’s as they follow Gurney and Paul out of the dining hall. Duncan calls goodnight after them.
In the corridor, Leto’s voice drops. “I’ll have to send Gurney to one of the islands at midnight. A minor matter, but urgent. And it needs his steady hand and experience.”
Jessica frowns, looking at Paul, who is drooping against Gurney’s shoulder, eyelids heavy. “Is it necessary? He settles Paul. More than anyone.”
“I know, love,” Leto says, “But he’s my best soldier. You know that.”
Her lips press thin. Of course, she knows. And she also knows that Paul cannot rely forever on one man, no matter how loyal, no matter how beloved. Yet, something rises—doubt or fear, she cannot tell.
Leto squeezes her hand. “Paul will be fine.”
Jessica nods, watching at her son’s blissful, half-sleeping face as Gurney carries him away.
They wave one last time as the two head down the hall. Jessica and Leto slip inside their chambers, preparing for the night. Once ready, they crawl beneath the covers side by side and allow exhaustion to claim them.
However, well past midnight, Jessica stirs. A soft sound threads through her dreams and pulls her back to consciousness. She blinks into the darkness, disoriented, until she hears it again: quiet sobs.
She knows who it is. “Paul?”
Her son stands in the doorway, cheeks streaked, and tears dripping onto his nightshirt. Before Jessica can sit up, he runs toward the bed.
“Mommy, Gurney’s gone!” he wails, scrambling up into her arms.
Jessica gathers him close, kissing his cheek. “Shh, my darling. What is it? Did you dream?”
Paul shakes his head violently. “I woke up—I dreamed he was hurt. I went to see him, but he’s not there! He’s gone! I want Gurney!”
Leto pushes himself upright, rubbing at his face. He hadn’t expected this, she can see it.
“Paul,” Leto reaches to smooth their son’s curls. “Gurney left tonight on a mission. He’ll come back soon.”
“I don’t want him gone!” Paul cries, voice breaking apart. He thrashes, fists beating weakly against the blankets. “I want him now! I want Gurney!”
Jessica whispers soothing nonsense, anything to calm him, but the cries only climb higher.
“Please,” he begs, clutching her. “Bring him back. I want Gurney.”
Leto tries again, explaining everything in a calm tone, but Paul is inconsolable. The tantrum spirals into breathless sobs—every one of them for the man who isn’t here.
Nearly an hour passes before he stops.
At last, Paul’s body goes heavy in Jessica’s arms, exhaustion dragging him under. She eases him onto the middle of the bed, smoothing his hair from his forehead.
She doesn’t lie down, but sits beside him. Leto stays awake too. Neither can find rest, both too occupied with what happened.
Perhaps, sending Gurney away was not the best decision. Not when her little boy’s whole world seems anchored to the presence of one scarred soldier.
And she knows, with the sharpness of a mother’s instinct, that this night is only the beginning.
Morning comes in gray ribbons through the curtains, the kind of soft light Caladan makes when the clouds haven’t decided whether to break.
Jessica wakes to warmth: Leto at her back, and Paul curled into her front, tucked beneath her chin. At some point in the night he must have migrated toward her arms.
His thumb rests at the corner of his mouth, his hawk pendant traces a faint line across his neck, and his lashes sit on his cheeks. He isn’t awake yet, but the little frown he wore most of the night has softened into innocent peace.
She slides her palm to his back, drawing him closer. Behind her, Leto stirs and reaches forward, covering her hand with his own. The unconscious instinct to protect them both always breaks her a little.
Paul makes a soft noise—half sigh, half squeak—then wiggles in until his forehead touches her throat. Jessica kisses his hair. “Good morning, son.”
He tries opening his eyes, but gives up. She feels the smile before she sees it: the pull at the corner of his mouth, the way his cheek presses into her like a cat seeking more warmth. Leto’s hand resumes its slow circles across his back.
“Mmh,” Paul hums, still too sleepy to form words.
“Hi, my angel,” Jessica whispers.
“Who put this little lord in our bed?” Leto says, pretending to be shocked.
Paul giggles, muffled. “Me.”
“Conspirator,” Leto accuses, tapping the pendant cord with one fingertip. “Tell me—what is the plan for such a morning, conspirator?”
“Play,” Paul answers. He finally opens his eyes, blinking at the light, and turns his face up to Jessica. The look he gives her is pure softness. “Garden. Puddles. And a story at breakfast.”
“We can arrange two out of three,” Jessica says. “It needs to rain for puddles, love.”
Paul’s mouth forms a quiet “O” of disappointment, then he recovers. “Okay. Then hide-and-seek again. Mommy doesn’t find me so fast.”
“I always find you,” she says, booping his nose. “But today, I’ll get you even faster. You’ll see.”
His grin widens, childlike. He rolls onto his back and squeals when both parents lean in to tickle him. Laughter bursts from him.
Eventually they begin to sit up, routine pulling them forward into the day. Suddenly, Paul grabs Jessica’s sleeve with one hand and Leto’s wrist with the other.
“Wait. Can we see Gurney?”
Jessica meets Leto’s eyes above Paul’s head; Leto’s mouth tightens. “Not this morning, love,” Leto explains, “Gurney went to the islands in the night. Just like I told you. He’ll be back soon.”
Paul’s face shifts. The good mood collapses, and his lower lip trembles. “He’s hurt,” Paul says, sounding so certain. “I want to see him, Daddy. Please.”
Jessica brings her hand to his cheek. “You had a bad dream, darling. Remember? That was a dream. He’s not hurt. He’s on a mission.”
Paul shakes his head, tears gathering. “You’re lying.” The words aren’t an accusation, they’re fear. “Something happened to him. I saw it.”
Leto moves closer and draws their son up to sit, bracketing Paul with his arms. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Paul. If he were hurt, we would tell you. He’s not. He left on a ship and he’ll return, and then we can scold him for leaving you.”
Paul’s mouth twists, the tears slipping down his cheeks. “I don’t want you to scold him. I want him back.”
He pushes his thumb into his mouth and sucks hard—an instinct older than memory, the quickest path to comfort.
Jessica takes him, “We could say good morning to Hawat,” she offers, brushing her fingers through his hair. “You’d like that?”
“No.”
“What about breakfast with Duncan?” Leto tries, coaxing. “He might tell you the story about falling off a horse in front of an entire unit.”
“No.” The word turns into a sob. He buries his face in Jessica’s shoulder and cries as though they are deceiving him.
Jessica holds him for as long as it takes, until the sobs flatten. When he lifts his head, the skin beneath his eyes is flushed and damp. Nothing in his expression says he believes them.
The morning unfolds like walking a shoreline where the waves keep surprising feet.
Paul is cheerful while brushing his teeth, then suddenly sad when memory hits. He eats two bites of breakfast, then stares at nothing. He perks up at the mention of the garden, but his thumb drifts back into his mouth.
Jessica and Leto take turns—one comforting, the other distracting. They take him outside and try everything to improve his mood. Paul settles into a quiet that isn’t unhappy… yet he isn’t content either.
Everyone tries to cheer him up.
Duncan appears with a wooden bird he pretends to pull from Paul’s ear. Paul smiles, but presses himself closer to Jessica’s side, fingers hooked into her sleeve.
A kitchen maid “accidentally” drops a warm roll on a napkin and gasps dramatically when it “rolls” straight into Paul’s hands. He takes one bite, and hands the rest back to Jessica.
Yueh arrives with a basket of herbs, showing him how leaves can smell like lemons. Paul sniffs, murmurs a quiet “thank you,” but his thoughts remain distant.
After lunch, he refuses to nap. He dozes anyway, upright against Jessica’s side on a bench by the window, mouth open. She lets him drool on her sleeve, lets her arm go numb, because she will not risk waking him.
When dinner comes, he sits in her lap and eats, his gaze fixed on the door, waiting for a silhouette that never appears.
Leto meets Jessica’s eyes over Paul’s head. The look they trade says everything: they know what will come next.
They bring him to their room without discussion—there is no pretending he will sleep alone tonight. They climb into bed and make space for him between them. Jessica pulls him close; Paul’s body is pliant with the fatigue of a difficult day.
Once the lights dim, the little noises begin, soft whimpers. Jessica strokes his hair while Leto rubs his back. “Do you want a song?” she asks. When he nods, she sings.
Eventually, Paul’s body grows very heavy against her, and Jessica thinks they’ve won the night. She lets the last notes fade, rests her cheek on his hair. Silence holds.
However, it does not last.
Somewhere deep past midnight, a sound slices through the quiet. It’s a broken cry. Paul jerks hard in his sleep and wakes all at once, sobbing like someone has hurt him.
“Gurney!” he wails. “Mommy—Daddy—he’s hurt.”
Jessica takes him into her arms before she’s fully awake. Paul both fights and clings at once, panic pouring out of him in hot tears.
“Shh. Shh, darling. We’ve got you. You’re with us. It was a dream. Just a dream.”
Paul hiccups so hard, he coughs. “I saw—he fell. He was bleeding—I don’t want him to be hurt. Please—”
They try everything that usually works. Jessica sings again, but he cries over the melody. Leto tells him exactly where Gurney is and when he will return; but Paul only sobs louder.
They pass him between their arms, swapping when an angle stops working. It goes on and on, the red-eyed helplessness of a four-year-old who has met the idea of loss and doesn’t know what to do with it except cry.
And at last—because even nights like this must end—he stops.
His body surrenders where his pride won’t. He falls asleep mid-shiver, his cheek against Leto’s shoulder. After a while, Leto lowers Paul onto the mattress. He pulls the blanket up, tucks it beneath Paul’s chin, and rests his hand over his sternum, feeling the rise and fall.
That night, neither of them sleeps much.
Morning comes under the same gray skies, and Paul wakes still sad from the night before. He eats little, his thumb in his mouth, and his shoulders drawn in. The ache under Jessica’s ribs deepens.
By midmorning, she cannot bear it anymore. She seeks out Leto.
“He’s the same,” she tells him in his office. “I left him with Duncan, but it’s no good. He needs Gurney back.”
Leto frowns, weighing duty against his son’s distress. “I sent him for a reason, my love. Another man could have gone, yes—but none with his abilities. If I recall him early—”
“Recall him,” Jessica pleads. “Paul is frightened. He barely slept. We have other men, Leto. Send one of them instead.”
Leto hesitates for a long moment. She sees the Duke in him, the man who dislikes reversing an order once given. But then she sees the father win. His shoulders ease, “Alright. Tomorrow morning. He’ll return then.”
Relief warms her. She leans in, kissing his cheek. “Thank you.”
“He is small,” Leto cups her waist, not letting her go. “I know we shouldn’t let him cling so hard to one man, but he's still a baby. He’s allowed to want comfort.”
Jessica smiles, “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. I think the same.”
They part, both lighter for agreeing.
Jessica goes to find her son. She expects to see him playing with Duncan, but finds instead the echo of an attempt. Paul sits beside the man on a bench in one of the side halls, lashes sticky from the last tears. Duncan rises as she approaches, looking apologetic.
“I tried,” Duncan says. “Told him stories, and did sword drills with a stick. He listens, but… it isn’t me he wants.”
Jessica touches his arm. “It’s not your fault. Thank you for trying.” She turns to Paul, knowing exactly what will help. “Come with me, my son.”
Paul slides off the bench and lets her take his hand. He walks beside her without protest, subdued. Jessica leads him through the castle, out toward the gardens—toward the one place she hopes might make him smile again.
When they reach the fountain, she crouches and points. “Look, Paul. Do you remember from last time? Can you see the flower in the water?”
He blinks, uncertain, and leans over the edge. The same pale flower rests at the bottom, the one he had wanted to give Gurney as a present.
“Yes,” he whispers. “The pretty one.”
She nods, cheerful as she watches the shift in his face—the first spark of interest all day. “I have an idea,” she suggests, “What if you pick it and keep it safe? I’m sure Gurney will return if he knows you have a present for him. He’ll hurry home, knowing you waited.”
Paul stares at her, “Will it make him come back? Like magic?”
Her heart melts, “Yes. He’ll hurry home for this gift. Maybe even come back tomorrow. Don’t you think?”
Paul studies the flower, then nods, as if everything now makes sense. Jessica lifts him under the arms, leaning him close enough to reach. He takes the flower from the water, droplets trailing down his wrist as he clutches the bloom.
His face is brighter.
The change carries through the day. Paul keeps the flower with him everywhere he goes—tucked into his palm, set beside his plate, shown proudly to Duncan whenever he passes. The thumb still goes to his mouth, but less. He even laughs when Jessica pretends to chase him around.
Once Leto sees him, his expression softens. He meets Jessica’s eyes, and they both know that they made the right choice.
Night comes, and Paul insists on sleeping in his bed tonight. Leto kisses him goodnight, and Jessica accompanies him to his room. She helps him into his nightclothes, smoothing the fabric over his shoulders. He never sets the flower down.
“It’ll wait here,” Paul climbs into bed, placing the bloom on the pillow beside him. “When Gurney comes back, I’ll give it to him.”
Jessica tucks the blanket around him. Her heart aches at the innocence of it—this fierce belief that a single flower can call a man back across the sea. She bends to kiss his temple, “Goodnight, my darling.”
She stands to leave, lingering in the doorway to watch him curl around the flower. Walking away feels wrong, but he chose this, and she must respect it.
However, she has barely taken two steps toward her own chamber when she hears footsteps. Strange, at this hour. She pauses, listening. The rhythm is familiar. Before she even sees him, she knows who it is.
Gurney Halleck stands at the far end of the hallway, sea-wind clinging to his cloak, boots damp, his face chilled from the night air. It seems like he came straight from the docks, far earlier than Leto had said.
“Gurney, I thought you weren’t supposed to return until tomorrow.”
He doesn’t bother to make a proper explanation, though she can see he feels the strain of altering orders. “The Duke told me about Paul, and said my mission was over. I didn’t see the point of spending another night outside the castle.”
She isn’t sure how to answer that, but he doesn’t wait, stepping past her and stopping at Paul’s closed door.
“May I?” he asks.
Jessica nods once.
The moment the door opens, Paul’s cry bursts out— “Gurney!”
He scrambles out of bed, the flower forgotten on the pillow, and runs. Gurney moves to catch him. Paul hurls himself into the man’s arms, and Gurney lifts him high, spinning him in a wide arc. Paul squeals, cheeks wet with fresh tears, this time of joy.
“My little lord,” Gurney brings him close.
Jessica’s throat tightens as the tension drains from Paul. He buries his face against Gurney’s cheek. “I thought you were hurt!”
“I’m okay, pup,” Gurney says, rocking him against his chest. He shifts back to show Paul his arms, his face, and his whole uninjured self. “See? Not a scratch. Were you that worried, my lad?”
Paul nods, sniffling, and Gurney wipes his cheeks as he begins explaining everything about his trip and how nothing bad happened.
Jessica means to slip away and give them space, but she stops when Paul twists in Gurney’s arms to look back at her. “Mommy! The flower worked!”
Jessica laughs, hand covering her mouth. “Did you see how you could call Gurney?”
Gurney’s brow pulls together, puzzled. “Flower?”
Paul wriggles down from his arms, but does not let go, tugging him toward the bed so he can fetch the bloom from his pillow. He offers it up with both hands. “Here. For you. To make you come back.”
Gurney’s face softens, every line easing. He takes the flower as though accepting a treasure. His voice is low, roughened by feeling. “Then it worked better than any map.” He lifts Paul again, holding him close. “I missed you, lad.”
Paul wraps his arms around Gurney’s neck, eyes shining. “I missed you too.”
Jessica's heart is full. She had expected Gurney tomorrow at dawn. Clearly, he pushed himself to return sooner for Paul.
Her eyes linger on the sight: soldier and boy, loyalty and affection braided together as naturally as breath. Gratitude rises in her, deep and sudden, that her son is loved like this. Not only by his parents, but by someone who sees him as if he were his own blood.
Paul settles in Gurney’s arms, cheek pressed to his shoulder, the flower trapped between them. Jessica knows he will sleep easily tonight, that no nightmare will find him now that Gurney is here.
She leaves quietly and walks back to her room, knowing that Leto is waiting for her—ready to be just as surprised as she was when she tells him that Gurney has returned early.