When Elin recognized light was on her face, her eyes fluttered open. She yawned and stretched, before rubbing her face against Walter's chest.

Walter stared at the ceiling, lost in his thoughts. Nostalgia overwhelmed her. The last time a scene like this played out was the Pilgrim's Folly. "Good morning, beloved," she whispered, "Should we get up?"

"Nah, you're warm. Let's stay in bed all day."

She held back a chuckle, "I will, if you wish it, but we should prepare for our visitors, instead. Rise with me, and help me dress, sir squire."

"You know, we shouldn't be lazy..."

The deed is finished. No matter what happens, that can't be taken away from me.

Carpenters and blacksmiths delivered pieces of furniture and cooking utensils. After stoking the hearth and transferring cooking coals to the stone countertop, Walter sat at a breakfast nook to scribble on his codex.

He did it again. With one click, he obtained a fire.

"It's nice to have a place to sit," he groaned as he settled into the chair.

Her heart swelled, because the more they stayed in the main house, the more they gravitated to the kitchen. He didn't complain about the little chores she handed him, and both cooperated without asking.

She wanted to hum while she cooked. "Walter? How do you feel about bacon and--What is it?"

At some point, he stopped writing and stared at her. "The way the light hit your hair, it looked like you were glowing for a moment."

Elin surged with excitement and discovered she looked away.

By Gaia, Walter, where did that come from?

"Bacon and eggs sound wonderful," he answered her unfinished question.

"Scrambled?" she asked.

"Yes, please."

Grease on hot metal sizzled and popped.

---

Before meeting a heroine, the very least you could have done was refrain.

Priestess Evelyn's nose curled. Opposite her, in the armored carriage, was Sir Eugene, and he seemed supremely self-satisfied. Today, his duties as Lady Elin's official recorder and affidavit began.

"Why does she live in such a dismal place?" Sir Eugene eyed the countryside, "Once married, we'll move to the inner city. Perhaps the capitol. No, we'd be insulted not to be invited."

"She goes where she feels she is needed. Sir Eugene, I have warned you," Priestess Evelyn measured her response, "Not to make assumptions of Lady Elin. Simply because the Temple of Gaia directly arranged her marriage, this time, does not--"

He waved his hand dismissively, "She's a devout member of the Order of the Witness, is she not? How could she refuse? You women are simple things, one need only take control."

Some soldiers are willing to die by my suggestions over their orders, boy.

Priestess Evelyn disguised her closing her eyes as a slow blink. Despite insulting her womanhood to her face, she refused to be riled up, and she calmly evaluated his words. The priestess believed Sir Eugene was half-right. Many marriages, arranged by her very hand, conducted under a similar premise. Granted, many were unique, but this theme occurred more often than not, and many would fail without it. Some women caved to it, others craved it, most wanted a moderated grey area.

The situation demanded Elin take more than one husband and birth children of different bloodlines. Magic passed from parent to child, and it was nigh impossible her children would inherit both of her endowments. Worse, if their father was too dissimilar, her lineage might end up erased or diluted to uselessness. This is why Lord Rich's first marriage, with Ugly, was frowned upon, yet his second, with Lady Jeanne, brought approval. Before Elin's birth, this was Jeanne Agi's motivation: to rebuild her household. These unfortunate lessons the people of Eovamund learned the hard way, and too much is already lost.

Logically, it made perfect sense her first husband should be another paladin, to reignite and bolster that path once more. Once his air was collected, no one would think twice if she abandoned him. However...

"Do not confuse control with responsibility, Sir Eugene, or submission with weakness. I have known great men who suffered from that stupidity. Rumors circulate that the last man to mistreat her suffered a broken arm, and this was before she..."

He ignored her.

Very well. I have offered ample warning. We have plenty of reasons for our traditions, but your fate is your own, now.

---

The priestess evaluated the farm as she dismounted the carriage. It seemed peaceful. From its location, Priestess Evelyn expected it to be damaged, or weighed down by a feeling of ever-present threat, resembling the aura from the Necropolis. Instead, the mood was light, despite the cold. Trampled snow proved they were moving in.

Undoubtedly, Elin is living out a fantasy here and zealously cleared the grounds.

Sir Eugene beat on the front door of the main house, the only building with smoke from the chimney. "My name is Sir Eugene, Odinic Templar! I've come to serve and service Lady Elin!"

That is the absolute worst way you could phrase it.

Walter opened the door, wearing a spider-silk shirt and his legs covered in quilted canvas armor. He blinked when he looked at the Odinic Templar posturing at the door, then turned his attention to the woman behind him.

"Priestess Evelyn? I'm glad you came."

Priestess Evelyn curtsied, "A pleasure to be here. Is Lady Elin--"

She stopped, abruptly, when the faint winter breeze changed direction. He smelled clean, perhaps freshly washed since last night, yet Priestess Evelyn detected Elin's body upon him.

Oh, Elin, what have you done?

"Tell the lady of the house her deponent has arrived, knave!" Sir Eugene demanded, "Before I clobber you!"

Walter tilted his head. "Your funeral." He ducked inside to yell, "Elin? There's a guy dressed like a deer here that says he wants to fight you."