The Lamb and the Gray Battle

April 1, 1446

Ren spoke in Chinese that morning, but Aoibh knew the words.

Love, love, love.

"Zhangfu loves Qizi. Dear Ren loves Aoibh."

He ran the back of his hand over hers, his head on her breast.

"Forever and ever. Never leave me. I love you. Anything you want, my queen, mother of my child. A son," he sang. "I love you."

And more kissing. Was it a coincidence that it was Mam's birthday? Aoibh was sentimental and silly.

"Mam blessed us," she said.

Ren helped her up, helped her wash. It seemed those first nights reunited were true and these past few weeks were the lie. Ren was as warm as the fire in the hearth and he kissed every crevice and brought her candied fruit and custard tarts.

She wrapped her unruly locks on the top of her head, poked a hairpin through them.

"Oh, if only you could be like this always."

Ren kissed the nape of her neck and followed the path of her spine with his lips. "I will be like this forever, if you want."

"Yes," she said, spinning to him and kissing him again.

Rain was frequent and Ren, as an aquatic species, liked it. Aoibh hated it, but she couldn't ask Ren to control the weather. When the sun shone outside the Fortress, the pair strolled and enjoyed the spring. Ren picked every daffodil for her.

"You're killing them," Aoibh said.

"They'll grow back."

She took his wrist, kissed his cheek. Tyddewi was the home of his Fortress, so naturally, all the citizens they passed were loyal and bowed to him and offered the pair gifts. Aoibh was never one to refuse a steamed bun or fried doughnuts.

Nibbling some dried honey, she asked, "Why didn't you come for me?"

His black eyes turned dark. His pulse jumped, but a few breaths was all it took for him to calm himself.

"My mother threatened to kill me," he said.