Against The World

Chapter 60: The Ordinary Hours

I knew which cup Evelyn would choose before she entered the room.

The blue one.

Not because it was particularly fine. One side of the rim was slightly uneven, and its handle had been repaired.

But it held warmth longer than the thin porcelain cups her mother had sent.

I filled it and placed it beside her chair.

Then I stopped.

There had been a time when I knew almost nothing about the woman sitting there.

Now I knew how strong she liked her tea.

Which window she opened when a room became stuffy.

That she read difficult letters twice, touching the edge of the page with one finger during the second reading.

I knew that when she was genuinely angry, she became quieter.

And that she took the last piece of bread only after making certain I had eaten.

None of those things had appeared in a treaty.

“Is something wrong with my cup?”

I looked up.

Evelyn stood in the doorway, fastening one cuff.

“No.”

“You were staring at it.”

“I was considering its diplomatic significance.”

“Before breakfast?”

“I am very dedicated.”

She came over, kissed my cheek, and took the blue cup.

Exactly as expected.

For some reason, that pleased me more than it should have.

The first report from Bellcross was brief.

The convoy had arrived.

The inspected houses were being cleaned. Both civic units were working under Jalen’s direction after his local appointment had been confirmed through the proper trade witnesses.

One well had passed inspection.

The second needed a new cover.

Most importantly, the families had begun preparing the fields.

Merrow had enclosed a small sketch showing the first repaired house.

Its roof was crooked.

Its door was open.

I passed it to Evelyn.

She smiled before reaching the final line.

“They have started.”

“Yes.”

“Can we send the spare well fittings from Westmere?”

Mary consulted the inventory.

“Some will fit. I will have Aldren check.”

The meeting moved on.

Seed deliveries.

The lower market’s drainage.

A dispute over the price of stall space.

Then the spring work schedule reached the table, and Evelyn and I disagreed.

It began politely.

That did not mean it stayed comfortable.

“I can go to Bellcross after the next gate inspection,” I said. “Two days there would let me help with the damaged storehouse.”

Evelyn looked at the schedule.

“You already promised to inspect the Highfell repairs.”

“I can do both.”

“And attend the road meeting with Alder Rise?”

“That can move.”

“Dara has already arranged travel.”

“Then Highfell can move.”

Hessa shook her head from the far end of the table.

“The crew cannot remain idle while we rearrange your calendar.”

I looked down at the three requests.

Each made sense.

Together, they were becoming irritating.

“Bellcross needs help now.”

“Yes,” Evelyn said. “They have sent a list of materials. They have not asked you to abandon two other commitments.”

“I would not be abandoning them.”

“What would you call it if a builder promised to arrive here, then chose another job without consulting us?”

The room went quiet.

I felt my face warm.

“That is not quite the same.”

“Why?”

I had an answer ready.

It was a poor one.

Something about being king.

I was glad I did not say it.

Instead, I looked at Merrow’s drawing.

The crooked roof.

The open door.

“I can raise those beams in an afternoon.”

“And Jalen can supervise a crew raising them over several days,” Evelyn replied. “If we send the equipment he requested.”

I leaned back.

For a moment, I resented her for making sense in front of everyone.

That was not fair.

It was still what I felt.

“Send the equipment,” I said.

Mary made the note.

The meeting continued.

I answered the next question too sharply.

Evelyn noticed.

She did not correct me again.

Somehow that made me feel worse.

I found her afterward in the receiving room.

She was reviewing applications for the new market stalls.

I stood in the doorway until she looked up.

“May I?”

“You live here.”

“That does not answer whether you want to see me.”

Her expression softened a little.

“Come in.”

I sat opposite her.

For several seconds, I examined the repaired table edge.

Then I said, “You were right.”

“Yes.”

I looked up.

She raised an eyebrow.

“I could pretend surprise if you prefer.”

A laugh escaped before I could prevent it.

“No. That would be cruel.”

She put down her pen.

“I was not trying to embarrass you.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. I was embarrassed because I had not thought through what I was offering.”

She waited.

I rubbed the back of my neck.

“I want to see the house in that drawing. I want to go there and do something obvious.”

“Lift a beam.”

“Something like that.”

“Something you can finish.”

That was closer.

I nodded.

Voss’s hearing could take weeks.

Finding every missing person might take months.

But a beam could be lifted.

A wall could be repaired.

I could look at the result and know I had helped.

Evelyn reached across the table.

“I want you to visit Bellcross too.”

“You do?”

“Yes. When they can welcome you without having to stop their work because the king has arrived.”

I took her hand.

“I was unpleasant after the discussion.”

“A little.”

“I am sorry.”

“Thank you.”

No ceremony.

No careful maneuvering around pride.

Just an apology accepted.

I realized how much I had come to trust that she would remain on the other side of a difficult conversation.

She squeezed my fingers.

“Would you like to help me reject an absurd application?”

“Very much.”

“A merchant wants sole rights to sell ribbons beneath the eastern arcade.”

I stared at her.

“All ribbons?”

“Apparently.”

“I am suddenly feeling much more reasonable.”

That afternoon, we walked through the market.

The thaw had left mud between the newer paving stones. Merchants had laid boards across the worst patches, creating a path that required more balance than dignity.

Evelyn lifted her skirt clear of a puddle.

I offered my hand.

She took it.

At the next gap, I stepped onto a board that tipped beneath my boot.

Water splashed up one leg.

My wife stared.

Then began laughing.

“Do not.”

“I have said nothing.”

“You are saying a great deal with your face.”

“You can reshape stone.”

“I was trying to use the path like an ordinary person.”

“How ambitious.”

A nearby fruit seller hid a smile behind her scarf.

Evelyn noticed and laughed harder.

I should have been annoyed.

Instead, I found myself watching her.

She had one hand pressed against her mouth, her eyes bright, a loose strand of hair caught against her cheek.

No circlet.

No formal address.

Just Evelyn finding me ridiculous in the middle of a muddy market.

The thought came so clearly that it stopped me.

I love her.

Not a new thought, exactly.

We had spoken the words before.

But this time there was no ceremony around them, no fear after a rescue, no quiet gratitude after a difficult day.

She was laughing at my wet trousers.

And I wanted another hundred ordinary afternoons with her.

She caught my expression.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That is suspicious.”

“I am deciding whether to lift you over the next puddle.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Do not dare.”

The fruit seller stopped hiding her smile.

I offered Evelyn my arm instead.

She accepted it, still laughing.

We continued through the market.

I did not lose the thought.

We bought two pears.

Firm ones.

Evelyn accused me of learning how to bribe her.

I considered it an important royal skill.

At the workshop stalls, a young apprentice asked us to examine a small wooden shelf.

He had made it for the new classroom and wanted to know whether the hooks were low enough.

Evelyn knelt to check.

He corrected her measurement.

She listened seriously.

I leaned against a post and watched them discuss the problem.

A few months ago, she had arrived at Greykeep to judge whether I deserved the Crown.

Now she had mud on her hem and was arguing with a twelve-year-old about coat hooks.

The apprentice won.

She congratulated him.

Something settled in my chest.

I had wanted a home for so long that I had imagined it as a place.

Walls.

A door I could close.

A room where nobody could take anything else away.

But lately, home kept looking up from a ledger when I entered.

It kept stealing the warmer half of our blanket.

It knew when I was about to make an unreasonable promise and loved me enough to object.

Evelyn stood and brushed dust from her skirt.

“Ready?”

I nodded.

She slipped her hand into mine without looking for it.

The letter waiting at the castle came from Alistair’s contact with the investigating circuit.

Voss had been transferred.

The escort had reached the agreed court without incident.

His advocates had requested time to examine the evidence.

The witnesses would be heard in stages.

Mary read the schedule with Merrow.

There would be travel to arrange.

Statements to verify.

People to ask whether they still wished to testify.

We did not interrupt.

Instead, Evelyn and I continued to the kitchen to collect the food Beatrice had ordered us to take upstairs.

“She suspects we missed lunch,” Evelyn said.

“We bought pears.”

“That will not persuade her.”

It did not.

We left with a tray large enough to require both of us.

The argument over which end was heavier lasted all the way to our rooms.

I suspected she had deliberately chosen the lighter one.

I was correct.

After supper, Evelyn sat beside the fire with the damaged cuff of one of my shirts.

I watched her try to thread a needle.

Once.

Twice.

Then she frowned at it.

“Would you like help?”

“Can you do it?”

“No. I thought we could be frustrated together.”

She smiled.

“You have an entire workshop of people capable of repairing this.”

“Yes.”

“You do not need me to.”

“No.”

She looked up.

“Then why are you watching so closely?”

I considered making a joke.

Something about the needle winning.

Instead, I said, “I think I fell in love with you again this afternoon.”

Her hands stopped.

“Again?”

“In the market.”

“When you nearly fell into the mud?”

“During the laughter afterward.”

“That is an unusual moment to choose.”

“I do not think I chose it.”

She set the shirt aside.

I moved from my chair to sit beside her.

For a moment, she studied me.

Then her smile became gentler.

“I know what you mean.”

“You do?”

She nodded.

“Yesterday, you moved my notes away from the open window before the wind could catch them.”

“That seems a low standard.”

“You did not interrupt what you were saying. You simply noticed.”

I waited.

“You also left my place marked in the book you borrowed. And this morning, there was tea in the cup I like.”

“I have learned some useful things.”

“Yes.”

She took my hand.

“When we married, I loved you. I wanted the future we were choosing.”

“I did too.”

“But I think I understood only part of what I was saying.”

I looked toward the mantel.

The little house.

The wooden horse.

Our rooms had filled with things that would have meant nothing to someone passing through.

To us, they belonged to entire days.

Evelyn followed my gaze.

“Now I know what it feels like to disagree with you and still want to sit beside you afterward.”

“I was hoping you would.”

“To miss you when you are in the next room because I have something foolish to tell you.”

“That happens to me.”

“To see something good and begin looking for you before I remember where you are.”

I turned toward her.

She was smiling, but her eyes had grown bright.

“I do not merely want to be a good queen beside you,” she said. “I want to grow old being this person with you.”

For a moment, I could not answer.

Then I touched her cheek.

“Even if I continue falling into puddles?”

“Especially then. Otherwise, you might become unbearably dignified.”

I laughed.

She leaned into my hand.

“I love you, Uriah.”

This time, I did not rush to answer.

I let myself hear it.

Believe it.

“I love you too.”

When we kissed, it was not hesitant.

There was no audience, no waiting vow, no relief that one of us had returned from danger.

Just the woman I loved, warm beneath my hands, smiling when we drew apart.

She rested her forehead against mine.

“We were fortunate.”

“Yes.”

“And we have done some work.”

“That too.”

She laughed softly.

I drew her closer, and she settled against my chest.

For a while, we listened to the fire.

Later, she picked up the shirt again.

“You never told me how you tore this.”

“A nail beside the storehouse door.”

“Did someone repair it?”

“The nail?”

“Yes.”

“I reported it.”

She looked at me.

I sighed.

“I will check tomorrow.”

“Good.”

I watched her make three careful stitches.

Then she handed the shirt to me.

“That will hold until someone competent repairs it.”

I examined the uneven thread.

“It is perfect.”

“It is visibly crooked.”

“Yes.”

“You are being sentimental.”

“Apparently.”

She shook her head, pleased despite herself.

Outside, rain began tapping against the windows.

Tomorrow would bring another muddy walk.

Another argument over costs.

Another letter we hoped would contain a name someone had been waiting to hear.

Evelyn folded the mended shirt and placed it over the back of my chair.

Then she held out her hand.

“Come to bed, husband.”

I took it.

There were plenty of things I still did not know how to do.

Loving her was becoming something I no longer doubted.

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