The ride home was quiet, not empty or uncomfortable, just settled. Everything that had needed to be said had been said, and what remained didn't have words yet, and no one reached for any.
Soon they reached home, and the front door opened before any of them had fully reached it, and Lady Irina was there, standing at the threshold, her eyes wide and her hands trembling at her sides, her body having arrived at the door before her mind had finished deciding to move.
She looked at him.
Sir Slavik looked at her.
Fifteen years collapsed in the space between one breath and the next, and then she was crossing what little distance remained. His arms came around her, and whatever composure either of them had been holding gave way entirely and completely and without apology.
