Mer leaned against the cool stone railing, her eyes tracing the flower garden below where moonlight pooled like silver water.

“I miss all of you,” she said softly.

Justine studied her daughter’s face. There was a weight there—old and tender.

“You can come home anytime,” she said gently.

Mer smiled faintly. She wanted to say I never wanted to leave. She wanted to admit how she’d longed to collapse in her mother’s arms, how many nights she’d cried in solitude.

But seeing the concern in Justine’s eyes, she swallowed the ache.

“In that case, I’ll come home more often.”

“Yes,” Justine whispered, wrapping her arms around her. “Please do.”

Mer didn’t respond. She just let her tears fall silently, soaking into her mother’s shoulder.

To distract them both, Justine shifted the conversation.

“Did you hear? Count Falcon was caught cheating.”

Mer blinked, startled. “What? He didn’t seem the type.”

Justine snorted. “You’d be surprised. Nobles—men and women alike—keep mistresses. It’s not about love, just ego and attention.”

“But Dad’s not like that,” Mer said.

“No,” Justine agreed softly. “He’s not.”

Justine went on to share stories from her social calendar—tea parties, charity events, gossip both harmless and scandalous. Mer listened, grateful for the familiarity.

Then, Justine paused, looking at her carefully.

“…I’m honestly worried about you.”

Mer gave a half-laugh. “Mother, Cecil is not like that.”

“I know. I just… I remember how upset you were when you didn’t get to be with the Crown Prince.”

“…What?”

“You used to like him, didn’t you?” Justine said, surprised. “Philip? We always assumed—well, it’s just what everyone thought.”

Mer stared at her mother. Her heart felt like it had skipped a beat.

Philip? The Crown Prince? Her junior?

“I never liked Lord Philip.”

Justine covered her mouth. “Oh… so we misunderstood.” She laughed awkwardly. “Well, I’m happy. Especially now that you and the Duke get along so well.”

Mer didn’t respond. The silence lingered.

“Mer?” Justine asked again. “Are you listening?”

“Sorry, I’m… I’m sleepy. Let’s talk tomorrow?”

“All right. Rest, sweetheart.”

---

Mer returned to her room with her thoughts spinning—but halted in the doorway.

Cecil sat on the edge of the bed, waiting.

“God, you startled me!” she gasped, placing a hand on her chest.

He smiled faintly. “Did you finish talking to Mother?”

That word—Mother—struck something inside her. Her eyes welled up instantly.

She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her head to his shoulder. He welcomed her into his embrace without hesitation.

“She told me about things that happened here,” she whispered.

He looked at her quietly, then leaned in and kissed her forehead.

She gasped softly, eyes searching his.

“If you want to kiss me…”

She stood between his legs, took hold of his hair gently, tilted his face up. Her nose brushed against his.

“Do it right,” she murmured.

Cecil’s body shivered with restraint—until Mer bit his lower lip, softly but deliberately. Her arms slid around his neck. That was all it took.

He gave in.

He kissed her like he’d forgotten how to breathe, like she was the answer to every fear he’d been too proud to voice. He laid her down on the bed slowly, never breaking their kiss, his hand resting just beneath her jaw.

But she stopped him with a whisper.

“I love you, Cecil.”

He froze.

His hands trembled.

And then he kissed her again, softer this time, holding her close like he could shield her from time itself.

Mer stared into his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was mean to you all this time.”

Cecil swallowed. “You said you hurt me…”

He cupped her cheek. “But you never did.”

---

‘As If in a Dream’

Mer rested her cheek against Cecil’s bare chest, his heartbeat echoing softly beneath her ear—slow and steady. Her fingers idly played with strands of his hair, curling them gently between her knuckles, as if memorizing the feel of him.

Cecil’s hand moved to the small of her back, and he pulled the sheet up, covering her delicate frame. His skin was warm against hers. Familiar now. Grounding.

She looked up at him.

His face, softened in the afterglow. His breath slow. The faint, sleepy flicker of silver in his eyes.

Cecil.

His shape. His voice. His every quiet gesture.

He was him. There was no mistaking that. And yet, somewhere deep in her, a question stirred—Was this the Cecil she had always loved? Or had her heart once belonged to another?

She couldn’t remember.

Was that why the old Mer had wanted to leave him? To divorce him?

She sighed.

“Shame,” she murmured.

Cecil stirred slightly. “What was?”

She leaned up and kissed him, slow and deliberate. A hush fell over them.

“My cute husband…” she whispered.

No more questions. No more doubt.

She guided him back into her, hands gliding along his skin. He kissed her like someone re-learning the shape of the world—with care, with reverence. Their bodies met again in silence, mouths half-open, breaths catching in each other's skin.

She clung to him, feeling every inch of connection, of presence.

There were no words left to say.

Only the soft rhythm of movement, the sigh of sheets, the slow building of something deeper than desire. A communion.