“Aye,” Ivar said quietly, his voice soft, “true.”
Torvald gave him a knowing look.
“Get some sleep. We’ve got work tae dae tomorrow. And ye’re still favoring yer right side, even when ye think nay one’s watching.”
Ivar nodded, then watched as Torvald disappeared down the passage. He stood there for a moment longer, the weight of it all settling in. Then he went upstairs.
Matilda was already in bed, a book in her hands, her hair loose on the pillow. She didn’t say anything when he entered, just watched him quietly as he went about his routine.
When he climbed into bed beside her, she put her book down and lay back, still saying nothing.
He listened to the wind off the sound, enjoyed the warmth of the room surrounding them, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t run the calculations.
He let them go.
And he slept.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The decree arrived on a Tuesday, carried by a rider who didn't dismount.
From the upper window, Ivar watched the exchange. The man handed the sealed letter to the gate guard and turned his horse around in a spray of gravel, retreating without waiting for a response.
Royal messengers didn't wait. The Crown's words were not an invitation to discussion; they were the sound of a closing trap.
He read it twice at the table in his study, the heavy vellum rough beneath his calloused thumbs. Then he set it flat on the wood and read it a third time, searching the ink for some mercy that hadn't been there before, wondering if the words might have changed between readings.
They hadn't.
Matilda was across from him. She was silent, watching his face with the same unnerving focus she used when she’d decided not to ask, not yet. He'd stopped noticing the exact moment that had changed. The heartbeat when she’d gone from reading him with the frantic caution of a captive to reading him with the effortless accuracy of a woman who knew the weight of his soul.
He slid the letter across the table without speaking.
He watched her eyes track the lines. Once in a quick, sharp sweep, then back to the top, slower this time. When she finally set it down, her hands stayed flat on the paper for a long moment, anchoring it as if it might fly away and take their peace with it.
"Crown intervention," she said. Her voice was a low, steady blade. "And removal of Mull's governance."
"Aye."
"That's nae a warning. That's a timeline."
"Aye," he rasped. "It is."
She looked at him across the table. He looked back.
The fire in the grate danced and shifted between them, throwing long, amber shadows across their faces. Neither said the obvious thing. They had reached a place where the air between them wasso thick with understanding that words didn't need to earn their place.
He folded the letter with a sharp, final snap and tucked it into the wool of his cloak.
"I need tae find Torvald," he said.
"I'm coming." She stood in one fluid motion, her skirts brushing the floor with a soft hiss.
He looked at her, his protective instincts flaring.
"Ye try tae tell me tae stay here," she said, her chin lifting, "and I'll tell ye nay, and we'll waste ten minutes we dinnae have. Or ye can save us both the time."
He considered arguing on principle. He looked at the steel in her gaze and decided against it. "Come then."