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Wren took the seat next to him, busying herself with smoothing out her green silk dress. “What if I don’t want to talk about it?” She wondered at his ability to see the weight she carried. She had woken up feeling safer after spending the day with Sophie, but the prophecy and the possibility of not going home for so long was weighing her down enough that she was trying to hide from it.

“Then we don’t talk about it,” he said simply, but concern burrowed its way into his face.

She nudged his shoulder trying to lighten the mood, but she knew it was unsuccessful. She had sought him out because he made things seem better than they were, and yet somehow she managed to make things difficult. “Will you play for me?” she asked quietly.

A tear slid down her cheek despite all her willpower.

Wesley set the violin down and looked at her. “Let me help you, tell me what I can do.”

Wesley looked like there was something else he wanted to say, but he only nodded and picked up the violin. The music started low and as his fingers strummed and the stick moved across the bottom she closed her eyes and embraced the sound. They were mournful sounds much like the feelings building with her.

Despair filled the notes and she couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. Much to Wesley’s credit, he did not stop playing, despite noticing her distress. In each note, she thought of Cara and of Georgie. She thought of how even when she made it home she would leave a part of her heart here. She was tied between two worlds and there was no hope for her to truly be happy and at peace.

The music stopped suddenly and then started again quiet, but building till the mournful music became one of hope and passion. She could feel the power through the notes coming from the instrument as if it were flowing into her very bones. Somehow she knew there had been loss and sadness, but in the end there was hope and healing. A lesson if the listener was willing to hear it. When Wesley stopped playing, Wren had her eyes closed as tears flowed like rain from her.

Wesley wiped away a tear, his fingers lingering on her skin. Her blood rushed warm at the touch and she opened her eyes, finding him looking at her, his expression pained. “I would take away your pain if you only tell me what is causing you so much distress.”

She smiled, putting her hand over his resting against her cheek. “I know you would. You are a good man, Wesley.” She breathed in deeply, feeling the pressure of his hand on her face.

She knew that she could trust him, that all she had to do was open her mouth and tell him about the prophecy, about what she might be, about how she came to Valmere. She knew he would work with her to find answers and that she would be better for his support, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to cross that bridge.

She knew she was a coward, but instead of the truth she said, “That was beautiful, what you just played.”

“It was a song about a king who married his chosen queen only to have her die. He finds hope again in his people and by devoting himself to the kingdom ruling as she would have ruled.” His voice was a near whisper.

“That’s very sad and very beautiful,” she whispered back.

“Wren.” Her name a whisper on his lips.

She answered his unspoken demand, but when her eyes met his every thought she ever had went murky. He was looking at her in a way that he shouldn't be. He raised a finger and ran it slowly along her jaw until it stopped to rest at her chin. Wren thought she might never exhale again and found that she was strangely not alarmed at the prospect. He tilted her chin up slightly and she knew she should say something, should stop what was about to happen.

When his lips fell on hers all thoughts left her.

His kiss was gentle, as if in askance. Her lips moved against his in answer. Wesley inhaled a sharp breath and wrapped one hand in her loose waves, pulling her closer while the other still held her cheek.

Despite the sudden burning and sensation of need in her, the kiss was painfully gentle as if they were something fragile that neither one wanted to break. Need gave way to logic and the kiss became more urgent. He nudged her lips open with his tongue as he groaned against her lips deepening the kiss.

As if awakening from a spell, Wesley made a pained noise and broke away from the kiss. Wren searched his eyes trying to understand.

“Wren.” He was breathless and her name a rasp. “We can’t.”

She pulled back from him, unable to understand the abrupt change of heart.

“Oh, gods, Wren. Don’t look at me like that. I want you, gods help me, I know it’s wrong, but I have wanted you since you first walked into this gods forsaken garden. Do you know that I come here every godsdamned day hoping you would be here?”

“You are swearing a lot,” she said quietly.

His laugh was light despite the heavy air around them. Humor dissipated as the reality of who they were settled back in. Pressing his forehead against hers he blew out a breath, the heat warming her.

“You are married, Wren, and not just to anyone.”

At the stark reminder of Malaki everything she had felt earlier tasted like poison. She pulled back from him once more and shot him an accusing glare. She didn’t need the reminder, but a small voice in the back of her mind said that apparently she did.

“He doesn’t care for me.” She felt the lie in her very bones. Whatever she told herself, she could no longer deny that in his own way, Malaki did care about her. She wasn’t ready to make sense of what happened between them the other night. He had let her in and this was how she responded.

Shame flooded her and she suddenly wished she was anywhere else. As if her mind rebelled against the shame building in her she remembered that she wasn’t given a choice in her marriage. Had she had the choice she would have never found herself tied to the dark prince. The sentiments warred in her so much that she barely noticed when Wesley stood up.

“I would do it, you know.” He smiled sadly down at her. “I would start a godsdamned war for you, if I thought you wanted it.”