Six years earlier, René had spent most of an evening smiling politely, his mother beside him, making introductions wherever she thought they might be welcome. 

He had been presented two years earlier, at seventeen, though his father’s death had made the present season rather different from the last. Mrs. Rell had begun to worry about what remained of his dowry. 

Only that afternoon, while his servant dressed him for the ball, René had worried that his clothes might appear too modest beside those of the wealthier families. Yet his thoughts had wandered elsewhere just as often. He had considered what sort of tea room he might have one day, whether he would prefer a house in the city or farther out, and what little shirts his children might wear.

His mother caught him lightly by the arm, smiling pleasantly as she steered him about the room. René allowed himself to be carried with her through the edge of the dancing.

“Mama,” he murmured, “what about Miss Main?”

“What about her?”

“She is a respectable Alpha. And she called on me two months ago.”

Mrs. Rell raised her peacock fan, concealing the grimace that crossed her face. “Have I not told you?” She glanced around before lowering her voice. “She retracted it.”

René pressed his lips together. Now that he thought of it, he had seen Miss Main that evening, but she glanced the other direction when she saw him.

His attention wandered through the room instead, over familiar faces and couples moving beneath the chandeliers, until it settled on a tall gentleman in an indigo suit.

He was handsome. Older than most of the men René had danced with that season, with neatly kept light-brown hair and a beard a shade darker. One gloved hand rested behind his back while the other held a glass of champagne. He was speaking to another gentleman, smiling at something René could not hear.

René looked a little longer than was proper. As though he had felt it, the gentleman turned. Their eyes met through the passing dancers, and René looked away only when his heart began to beat harder.

He reached for his mother’s arm, pretending an interest in the couples nearest them. It did little to settle him.

“René,” Mrs. Rell whispered urgently. “Stand straight. Mr. Corré is coming this way.”

“Who?”

“Hush, child.”

Her expression transformed into a pleasant smile before René had the chance to ask again. By then, the gentleman in indigo was already approaching.

His attention seemed fixed entirely on René. René’s face grew unbearably warm. He straightened before his mother could remind him again and managed an elegant bow when Mr. Corré stopped before them.

“Mrs. Rell,” he greeted her.

“Mr. Corré.” She shook his hand. “What a pleasure to see you here again. You have been greatly missed.”

“It was time I enjoyed myself again,” he said.

He turned slowly toward René and, instead of shaking his hand, took it in his own and brought it to his lips. His beard brushed René’s skin as he kissed his hand softly, lingering a second too long.

“Valentin Corré. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Rell.”

“The pleasure is mine,” René managed to murmur.

“Do you dance?” Mr. Corré asked, still holding his hand.

“Yes, I—do.” René’s fingers tingled in his grasp, and his breath caught.

Mr. Corré straightened and led René slowly toward the dance floor, his thumb brushing over René’s knuckles. He smiled as they took their places, waiting for the music to begin.

“I hope you will forgive me for staring at you earlier,” Mr. Corré whispered close to René’s ear. 

René’s face warmed again. “I believe I was staring first…”

“Yes.” Mr. Corré’s mouth curved. “That is why I came over.”

Mr. Corré’s hand settled against René’s back as the music began. His touch was light, almost surprisingly so, guiding him into the first steps without pulling him any closer than the dance required. 

“I hope I have not been too forward.”

“No,” René whispered.

“Good.” His fingers closed a little more firmly around René’s. “I should like to dance with you again before the evening is over.”

Mr. Corré kept his word, and for the remainder of the evening, if there had been any other suitors, they did not quite trust themselves to approach René. Wherever Mrs. Rell and René went, Mr. Corré seemed to follow.

By the time they returned home, Mrs. Rell could scarcely keep still.

“Oh, Maria!” she exclaimed as they entered the sitting room. “And he danced with René nearly the entire evening!”

Mrs. Rell threw her hands into the air, nearly causing Maria to drop the tray of tea.

“Forget the tea! See that he bathes, and wash his hair properly. Mark my words, child. Mr. Corré will call upon you tomorrow!”

“Mama,” René interjected, “I rather think Mr. Corré might wait before doing such a thing. His wife died less than a year ago, by suicide no less. Surely he will—”

“Nonsense!” Mrs. Rell protested. “He shall be here tomorrow. Listen to your Mama.”

And indeed, as Mrs. Rell had predicted, Mr. Corré appeared the following day. The bouquet of roses he brought could barely be contained by the largest vase in the house and threatened to tip it over.

Mr. Corré was not quite the sort of gentleman René had once imagined marrying. Mr. Corré was thirty-four then, fifteen years René’s senior, a Beta, and already a widower. Yet René found him handsome, and his conversation pleased him.

More importantly, Mr. Corré seemed to know precisely what he wanted. He called when he said he would, asked René questions about himself, and listened to the answers. When he spoke of marriage, he did not seem to consider it a subject best avoided.

René liked that very much.

He had enjoyed being admired before. But there was something to be said for knowing that a man intended to do more than admire him.

René listened for the door whenever Mr. Corré was expected, and took rather more care with his clothes on the days he was due to call. He was disappointed only once, when rain kept Mr. Corré away until the following morning.

By the following week, René left his family home to make a new one with Mr. Corré.

For the first few months, René occupied himself happily with doing precisely that. There were rooms to arrange, dinners to plan, servants whose names and habits he had to learn. He made lists for the gatherings he meant to hold once they were properly settled, and his husband was encouraging enough in the beginning, going to balls and dancing with his husband almost every fortnight. 

As for the late evenings, his husband preferred to find René in the bed they shared when he finally retired. René had little objection to that arrangement, though he wished Mr. Corré would retire before emptying half the cabinet downstairs.

Corré was a Beta, though that would hardly have troubled René. He had always wanted children, and there was no reason he should not have them. An Omega’s heat was generally sufficient, provided his husband attended to him.

Several months into their marriage, René could tell from the sound of the steps in the corridor whether his husband had been drinking.

That night, they were uneven.

René sighed and rolled onto his back.

He had hoped Mr. Corré might come to bed sober. It had been several days since they had last gone to bed together, and René had begun to think that perhaps tonight, with enough time, his husband might finally manage to please him as well.

The door opened with a thud. René looked towards it and tried not to appear disappointed.

In the beginning, he had expected that part of marriage to improve rather quickly. He found his husband handsome. He liked looking at him, liked his broad shoulders and the dark beard he kept so carefully trimmed, and had certainly enjoyed being kissed by him. René had therefore assumed the rest would come naturally.

It had not. Later, René lay beneath the blankets while Mr. Corré slept beside him.

He shifted onto his side and frowned. He had not been enjoying himself enough while his husband entered him, though there had hardly been time to remedy that before Mr. Corré finished. 

There ought to be more to it than this.

Still, Mr. Corré wanted a child. René did too. If the attempt had accomplished that, perhaps its failure to satisfy him mattered rather less. 

He pulled the blankets higher and closed his eyes. Next time, he hoped his husband would come to bed sober.

The following years changed more than René could have anticipated then. Mr. Corré’s drinking worsened, and with it, his temper. René learned when to speak and when silence served him better and how quickly an ordinary disagreement between the two might cease being ordinary. 

In the beginning, apologies usually followed. Mr. Corré would be ashamed of himself, kiss whatever hurt he had caused, and spend the following days being so attentive that René found it easy to believe the ugliness had been an exception. 

René made his own attempts at reconciliation. He sought his husband’s bed more often during those gentler periods, partly for the child they still hoped for and partly from the stubborn belief that affection might restore what had begun to cool between them. For a time, it seemed possible. René did eventually conceive, though the child did not survive. 

Much passed between the two men during their marriage. By the time Mr. Corré died, little remained of what René had once expected their life to become. René himself was no longer the same. 

꧁༺ 𓆩✧𓆪 ─── ⚜ ─── 𓆩✧𓆪 ༻꧂ 

Since his husband’s funeral, René had not entered society.

That day, the gathering at Ms. Wick’s would be his first outing in one year, and for that reason, he had hardly slept. He had woken earlier than everyone else. The house carried the dreadful sound of silence as René lay staring at the drapes.

The truth was, René did not want the servants there at all, even though his clothing needed tending to. The silence was deafening, but attention was certainly the greater enemy to his poor nerves.

Eventually, he stood and went to the mirror. Beside the raven trinkets, atop his old drawings, sat a small, unevenly crafted glass bird. And beside it, an old handkerchief.

It appeared hardly used and had been folded into a small square. Near the hem, two letters had been worked in white thread. One was rather neater than the other.

A D on the left and an R on the right.

René smiled as he traced the letters with his thumb. There were mornings when the sight of them left nothing in his heart but sorrow. Lately, however, he found himself smiling when he remembered him.

He was content at Langrer. His rooms were his own, his mornings had purpose, and his husband had proved considerably easier to live with than he had expected. Leon’s presence during tea was something René had begun to look forward to with rather more eagerness than he cared to admit.

Whatever awaited him at Ms. Wick’s that evening, René was happy.

René folded the handkerchief along its old creases and put it in the drawer. 

Before he moved away from the mirror, René traced the small glass bird with the tip of his finger from the tail to the beak. He would stare at it every morning before finally dressing and leaving the room. He dusted the non-existent motes away and placed it with great care back on the dresser, rotating it by the beak until it sat the way he wanted it to.

By the time the household had properly woken, he had already tended to his clothing and headed downstairs to eat breakfast. Leon was not there. 

René had taken to feeding the ravens only once every five or six days. He enjoyed their company, but he was conscious that feeding them too frequently might do them more harm than good.

It had been four days since he last brought them anything. He had nevertheless continued his walks around the lake, and on several occasions had spotted the raven with the uneven feathers among the others.

The wire was no longer wound around its leg. René had noticed some time ago that it seemed to walk more easily, and he was certain it was the same bird. It was missing a toe, after all.

Now its foot was free, and it hopped about with considerably less difficulty than before.

A knock came at the door moments after René retreated into the drawing room.

“Mr. Meren?” Elaine called. “The carriage is nearly ready. Mr. Leon Meren is waiting.”

René had never travelled this far north, though their departure seemed unusually hurried. Leon was already pacing beside the carriage when René stepped outside.

“Good morning,” Leon greeted him with a smile as he came down the stairs.

A servant reached for the carriage door, but Leon was quicker and opened it himself for René.

“Good morning,” René murmured.

The morning dew still clung to the blades of grass as they left Langrer, seated across from one another in the carriage. The willows beside the lake brushed their branches against the water as a soft summer breeze passed through them.

For the first few hours, René occupied himself with a new leather-bound sketchbook. The moving carriage made drawing difficult, but he managed small sketches of flowers, trees and birds in flight as they travelled farther north.

The carriage travelled on for four hours before leaving the main road and plunging into the old forests of the duchy. The trees stood densely together, their great crowns swallowing what little sunlight reached them.

The small mountains had long since disappeared, and the deep, narrow forests slowly gave way to open grasslands. René had never seen such sparse, sunny beech forests and soft, rolling hills. He put his sketchbook beside him. Leon was still engrossed in his book, so he did not want to disturb him.

“Is the ride tiring?” Leon lowered his book as soon as René looked his way. “Would you like to walk?” 

“No.” René shook his head slowly. “It is rather different from Langrer. I have never seen such lands,” he murmured.

Leon’s scent had lingered softly in the carriage for most of the journey. René became conscious that his own had begun to mingle with it.

“Do you like it?”

“Very much,” René whispered. He glanced at Leon’s hand, the one he seemed to injure a while back. “The scarring has faded. I am glad it did not persist.”

Leon chuckled as he hid his hand under his book. “I will be more careful when riding,” he mumbled. 

He placed the book to the side. Leon’s scent grew stronger as he leaned closer to René and pulled back the velvet drape. The muted light touched René’s chin and lips, and Leon stood over him a little longer than the movement required.