They began to eat, conversation moving in a loose and easy rhythm, though Iona found it difficult to follow. Her attention moved between the two of them, between what had been said and what had not. Frederick spoke as he always did, calm and certain, yet there was a difference in how he addressed Jamie now.
He was choosing his words more carefully, and Jamie seemed to notice it as well.
At first, the child spoke little, answering only when addressed, fingers tracing idle patterns along the edge of the table as though distracted by some thought that had not yet been given shape. Then, without warning, Jamie sat a little straighter and reached up to tug lightly at a strand of hair that had fallen forward.
“It is time,” Jamie said, almost to herself, before glancing between the two of them. “For me hair to be cut again.”
Iona’s gaze moved to her daughter’s hair, really seeing it now in the morning light. It had grown longer than she had allowed in some time, the ends softer, less blunt than they had been before.
Suddenly, a tightness formed low in her chest with a sharp, unwelcome realization that she had not told Jamie that Frederick knew. That there was no longer a need for careful disguises or quiet adjustments. That the rules they had lived by for so long had shifted overnight.
Frederick had gone still, his attention fixed on Jamie with a steadiness that gave nothing away at first glance. Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair, considering.
“Do ye wish it cut, Jamie?” he asked.
The question was simple. Direct. Unburdened by the weight Iona felt pressing in around it.
Jamie's fingers stilled against the table, shoulders tightening just slightly as their eyes shifted to her.
Her daughter’s silence made Iona’s heart break in a way that surprised her.
For so long, she had believed that she was protecting Jamie. Perhaps she had been. Perhaps she still was. But in that moment, all she saw was a child waiting to be told what they must do to remain safe.
She met Jamie’s gaze fully this time, holding it steady even as something uncertain twisted in her chest. “Aye,” she said quietly, though her voice carried more assurance than she felt. “Ye may choose.”
Jamie blinked, “Choose?” the child echoed.
“Aye,” Iona said again, gentler now. “It is yers to decide.”
Jamie hesitated, their eyes moving briefly to Frederick and then back to her, as if searching for contradiction. Finding none, they drew in a small breath.
“I… I daenae wish it cut,” Jamie said.
The words came slowly, as though testing their own truth.
Iona felt something shift within her, something both heavy and light at once.
“Then it shallnae be,” Frederick said.
His tone was steady, leaving no room for argument or reconsideration. There was no hesitation in it, no sense that he was offering permission that might be withdrawn. It was simply a statement of fact.
Jamie looked at him then, properly this time. There was uncertainty still, but something else had crept in alongside it. Something cautious, but hopeful.
Iona watched with bated breath.
“There is nae reason to hide any longer, lass,” Frederick added, his gaze softening just slightly.
The words settled over the table in a way that felt both relieving and overwhelming.
Iona exhaled slowly.
But before anything more could be said, the sound of boots against stone approached. Lennox appeared at the edge of the hall, his presence enough to draw Frederick’s attention away.
“Me laird,” Lennox said, dipping his head slightly. “There is word from the north.”
Frederick’s expression shifted at once, the ease of moments before settling into something more focused.
“I will come,” he replied.