Alaric invites Lenore to stay, moving with the tray she brought to sit on one of the couches settled around the coffee table in his study. He offers her some of the cookies but wishes that he had something to give her to drink. She tells him about her visit to Wirvoth and how the medicine should help him get some decent sleep for at least one night.
He's fairly certain that he had a normal conversation with Lenore as he drank the awful medicine she gave him without complaint, thankful that the kitchen staff had the foresight to include food to help with the aftertaste. However, after Lenore retires to her own chambers for the night with a pleased smile at the sight of his empty teacup, Alaric finds that he can't remember what they talked about.
Now that he thinks about it, the shock of her saying that she wanted to spend more time with him left him wondering what she meant. Beyond the roar of his thoughts, conversation became automatic and something that his brain hadn't had the ability to register at the same time. Alone in his study with nothing but the dying fire for company, Alaric laughs a full-bellied laugh that hasn't been heard from him in decades.
When was the last time that somebody was able to shock him enough that his mind went blank like that?
Lenore has been different from the moment she arrived, even if Alaric initially assumed that she would be the same as all the other political brides he took over the years. Brides who were just girls abandoned by their families and sent to a cursed land to appease the emperor. It's the part of the noble world that Alaric dislikes the most. Beyond the heir of a family, the rest of the children become disposable. More like tools instead of people who need the love and guidance of the adults around them. Tools that have no choice but to obey the orders they're given or be driven out of their family and left to fend for themselves.
It's a cruel system, and one that's shown no intention of changing even as generations pass by.
He thought Lenore would be like the women sent to him in previous generations. Somebody who would keep to herself and live silently until Alaric decided if he could trust her enough to send her to a villa, letting her enjoy the rest of her life in comfort without the burden of their contract marriage.
At first, he thought he'd be correct in those assumptions. Lenore was subdued, but not in a resigned way. Instead, there was something cautiously hopeful in her eyes. Even her simple request to write to her family caught him off-guard, although he didn't find it too unusual, having investigated her background. It was harmless enough, and an easy request to fulfill.
However, she started to defy his expectations from there. She didn't mind seeing him at meals, and she slowly started to speak with him as they ate rather than sit in tense silence that told him she learned to fear being heard. In this dreary land, she crafted flowers that would never wilt, returning color to the vases in his study and the manor's halls.
By some miracle, she restored life to dead gardens.
All of it would be unbelievable if he hadn't witnessed it himself.
As for the night she wandered to the third floor and the roses appeared in Elyria's vase, well, he's still left without answers.
Alaric glances at Elyria's covered portrait before he extinguishes the embers clinging to life in the fireplace, then heads to his chambers. It'll be an early night, he decides. If he retires to bed and gets a healthy amount of sleep with the help of Lenore's medicine, then the signs of fatigue should lighten.
Then, Lenore will be happy when she sees him at breakfast, having accomplished her goal.
He washes in the connected bathroom first, taking enough time to soothe the ache in his back that comes with hunching over documents all day. As the steam rises and warmth envelops him, he admits that he may indeed be more exhausted than he realizes. And yet, Lenore was able to notice it in the brief time they spent together these days. It's the nature of projects like repairing structures that lead to work piling up higher than normal, but Lenore is right in believing that he needs more rest than he's been getting. The feeling of having somebody worry about him not from duty but fondness is one he's forgotten. While he doesn't want to start expecting that Lenore will keep caring for him in these gentle ways, he would welcome it.
The problem with forming expectations is the disappointment that comes when they aren't met.
Yes, Lenore is different. But it's too early for him to open his heart more than this. Not when the walls around it have been built by scar tissue and loneliness. He's already let her deeper into his life than any other wife, with the exception of Elyria.
With a sigh and slow motions, Alaric dries off and puts on comfortable clothes to sleep in. Although his mind is filled with thoughts that he can't push away with the empty promise that he'll think about them later, weariness weighs down on him. Whatever concoction Wirvoth put together must be effective. Or it's simply the promise of rest that has his body already trying to chase sleep.
He settles into bed and draws the velvet cloth of his canopy closed enough on both sides to block out light that will seep through the window's curtains in the morning and dampen sounds. Tonight, he will be undisturbed in his rest.
It doesn't take long for sleep to start pulling at his consciousness, promising his tired body the temporary relief of rest. But before he succumbs to the lure of sleep, one more thought flutters through his mind.
Would Elyria forgive him if he falls in love with another woman?