The next morning, Victor and Emma went fishing by the stream, as had become their habit. The sky was clear, pale light still soft on the tall grass, and the air smelled faintly of river water. Victor walked beside her in silence, a cool gust tousling his dark hair.
They weren't alone for long. From behind a clump of trees, a slender figure appeared, walking toward them with a bow in hand and two rabbits hanging from his belt.
"Ah, the lovers of silence," Adam teased. "I hope I'm not disturbing the ritual?"
His cheeks were flushed, boots caked with mud, and he carried the joyful, slightly winded look of someone fresh from the hunt.
"If you feel like sinking in the mud and getting soaked with us, you're more than welcome," Emma replied with a smile.
Victor gave a small nod—more polite than warm. He liked Adam, but the man's presence still unsettled him. He couldn't quite say why. A vague discomfort lingered each time the young veteran looked at Emma a little too long—even though there was no clear sign of real interest. Victor was ashamed to feel it, whatever it was.
They were walking along a slippery bank, the ground still wet from recent rain, when Emma tripped stepping over a fallen log. Her foot slid into a hollow hidden beneath the moss, and she pitched forward.
Victor, already turned toward her, reached out without thinking. One arm wrapped around her waist, the other caught her shoulder. She landed against him, breathless, her hair damp against her temple.
She looked up. A second passed—suspended.
In her eyes, Victor saw something he hadn't truly grasped until now: a quiet tenderness, a kind of assurance, unspoken gratitude... but more than that. That gaze—it was his. And he knew it.
Something in him loosened then, a knot he hadn't realized was there. That weight in his chest slipped away without a sound.
"And they say chivalry is dead," Adam called out, grinning. "Maybe I should fall too—see what happens."
Victor turned toward him, still a little dazed, but suddenly light.
"I might catch you," he said, "if the fall is dramatic enough."
Adam burst into laughter.
"Then I'll make it good. Just be sure to grab me from the right side—my back's killing me."
Emma was laughing too, still half in Victor's arms. She eased away gently, but her hand brushed his for a moment as she let go. A small gesture—but one Victor registered, in silence.
Days turned into weeks.
Adam joined them often, though never intrusively. He told stories about what it was like to live in a makeshift barracks through the winter—the foolish bets between soldiers, the pranks on officers. His tales were usually exaggerated, always funny, but over time, Victor began to sense the things left unsaid—in a sudden stillness, a fixed gaze, a laugh that rang a little too loud.
Adam didn't teach Emma anything she didn't already know—she was used to tracking, to setting traps. But he offered to show Victor how to string a bow properly, how to find the right tension so the string didn't whip your arm on release. He spoke in gestures, in metaphors. Victor listened carefully. They were nothing alike, but a bond was slowly, unmistakably forming between them. They teased each other, helped one another. Sometimes Adam mocked Victor's age or manners; Victor answered back about his stiff gait or complete lack of seriousness. They genuinely liked each other.
Now and then, Adam would mention Robin. Never for long, just enough to show that he missed him—without letting it turn to sorrow. And Emma, each time, would fall silent for one heartbeat too many. Victor always noticed, from the corner of his eye. He was learning how to listen without stepping in.
Adam never tried to force his way in. He knew how to be there without overdoing it. The knot in Victor's chest had fully dissolved now. Adam wasn't a relic of the past or a threat. He was like them. Just another young man, a little worn down.
One evening, as the sun dipped behind the crooked rooftops of the town, Adam joined them at the edge of the market, looking more serious than usual.
"I wanted to talk to you about something."
They'd stopped in a quiet corner, beneath an old wall overgrown with vines. Adam crossed his arms and leaned back against the warm stone. His voice had that particular weight it took when he chose, for once, not to joke.
"I got in touch with a small traveling group," he said. "About twenty people, no more. Craftsmen, hunters, a few veterans like me. They're still camped just outside Dunleigh for a few weeks before they move on."
Emma and Victor exchanged a glance, curious.
Adam shrugged.
"They're starting to hint I've lingered too long at the boarding house... I'll be leaving with them at the start of autumn."
A pause. Just the sound of wind through the leaves. Emma opened her mouth, but Adam raised a hand.
"I know you two talked about leaving someday. You mentioned it. I figured... maybe this is something. You could come meet them. No pressure. I just wanted you to know."
He smiled, gave a small nod, and headed off down the opposite path.
Victor stood still for a moment. He watched Adam go without saying anything. Emma turned to him, her eyes deep with questions, with possibilities.
They resumed walking toward her home. Victor took the bundle of wood Emma had been carrying, wordlessly. He knew she didn't need help—she'd told him as much before. But he took it anyway.
At her doorstep, he set the bundle down against the wall, wiping his palms on his trousers. The sun-warmed scent of wood filled the air.
Emma, her back to him, took a breath.
"What do you think about what Adam said?" she asked, turning to look at him.
Victor felt something tighten in his chest. He sat on the edge of the table, eyes on the floor for a moment. He thought of the cold manor, of his mother, a shell of her former self. Of the vast world he had always longed to see—beyond the prints in his old books. He thought of Emma, too. Of what it would mean, watching her go.
He looked up. Best be honest.
"I think... if you go, I go. If you stay, I stay."
She held his gaze. For a long time, as if she could read him entirely. A silence stretched between them—tense, but gentle. Emma sat beside him with a small, relieved laugh. And she was honest too.
"Good. Because I think I'd have chickened out if I had to go without you."
Her eyes shone—not with tears, but something vivid, restrained. Victor looked at her as though seeing her anew. He felt a pull, a near-painful need. Heart pounding in his throat, he leaned forward and kissed her.
A soft kiss, cautious. A brush more than a press. Then he pulled away, abruptly, almost guilty—as if he'd crossed a line he shouldn't have.
But she reached for him. Her hand at his nape, her mouth more certain, more burning. And everything gave way.
The tension of the past months. The glances they'd exchanged, the gestures they'd held back. The desire that had only grown between them.
They kissed again, for a long time, wrapped in each other, their breaths mingling. Victor thought it was far better this way.
Here, in the warmth of the late afternoon, with her—without fear, without urgency.
Far better than that other time, when they'd come close but pulled away.
They had kissed for a long while, lying on Emma's pallet, without needing to go further than that slow certainty, that quiet joy of finally being here, together.
Their gestures were simple. Victor had one hand resting on Emma's waist, the other beneath her neck.
Emma played absentmindedly with a loose fold of his shirt, her head nestled against his shoulder, eyelids half-lowered.
The fire had nearly gone out, but there were still enough embers to bathe the room in a soft, flickering, amber glow.
They didn't need to speak. And yet, it was Emma who gently broke the silence, her voice husky with emotion, and something tender too.
"Are you going to see that troupe, then?"
Victor turned his head toward her. Her hair smelled like earth and sun. He smiled.
This time, he didn't feel the sting of uncertainty, nor the fear of losing her.
He already knew his answer.
"I think so," he said. "If we go together—then yes."
Emma lifted her eyes to his and nodded slowly, a smile tugging at her lips.
"We'll ask Adam tomorrow," she whispered.
"Tomorrow," Victor agreed.
A small laugh escaped her—quiet, almost shy.
"I still can't quite believe you're here."
"Me neither. But there's nowhere else I'd rather be."
He sealed the words with a kiss to her temple. Emma closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh.
He could feel her relaxing against him, and his own body was settling too, as if it had finally found its place.
After a moment, she murmured:
"It's late, you know."
Victor nodded. He understood what she meant, this time. He lifted his head just slightly, seeking her gaze.
"I'm staying."
Another silence, but this one was full of tenderness.
Emma shifted a little, pulling the blanket over their shoulders.
They adjusted, nestling closer, legs entangled.
"Goodnight," she said.
Victor answered, almost into her hair:
"Goodnight, Emma."