After leaving the couple to themselves, Hadrian had retreated to his room, intending to throw himself into some of his correspondence. When that didn't adequately distract him, Hadrian went to the small yard he used as training grounds at his estate. When Valeria was a little girl, she’d swung her first sword here. He’d been a younger man then, unstoppable, but after hours and hours in the yard he felt the age of his body working against him. A light rain started to fall, and so, sweaty and soaked with rain, Hadrian made his way inside under a gray leaden sky.

With the afternoon drawing on, Hadrian went to his room. He kicked off his boots and pulled his shirt free, and filled a cut crystal glass with whiskey…then another. Then another. By the time Alys entered, she’d look over to see Hadrian slumped in a chair, a good part of the bottle of whiskey gone, looking positively wild.

“No,” Hadrian said with a half-smile, “Me neither.”

At first she didn’t move, leaning back into the door. Her hands pressed against the spot behind the small of her back. He looked wild, he had history yes, she could see that in the gray that streaked his dark hair, but he was sharp. He was still powerful. His body still crafted as a warrior who knew battles and wars.

She slowly pushed off the door at that partial smile, her steps slow, steady as she approached him. Alys had so many questions, yet she was silent until she stood in front of him. Her knees brushing his. Then she carefully, lifted her leg just enough to knock his knees apart. Her eyes watching him with a slight caution before she stepped into the space there. No other part of her touched him.

“What are you thinking.” She murmured. She had been a widow, suddenly she was back to being a married woman. To a man who had been his best friend. “Let me in.”

Hadrian looked up at her, gray eyes stormy as the sea of the cliffs of Nevermere. Goddesses, she was beautiful. Lazy with drink he ran his eyes up her, up the curves of her body, to the fullness of her lips, to the freckles on her nose. Beautiful, but untouchable. Hadrian took another drink.

“What do you want me to say?” Hadrian said, exhausted, voice slurred ever so slightly, but still passably coherent, “Logan’s returned. I’m happy for you. Thrilled.”

He knew he was being petty. Perhaps intentionally so. Perhaps it was about more than this, about Logan and Alys, about what he’d just lost.

Or perhaps he was just drunk.