CHAPTER TEN
Lucien almost turned back twice before reaching Oakbend.
The narrow road wound through fields beginning to surrender to autumn, and every mile gave him another opportunity to convince himself this was a mistake.
Iris had asked for space. Bringing Elodie to see her might feel like another demand, another responsibility placed in her hands before she had even finished setting down the ones she had carried for years.
Yet when he asked Elodie what she wanted after breakfast, she had answered without hesitation.
"I want to see Iris."
Not the Luna.
Not the Alpha's wife.
Just Iris.
So here they were.
Oakbend looked unchanged from the last time Lucien had visited years ago.
Smoke curled lazily from stone chimneys, older wolves chatted outside the bakery as though the world had nowhere urgent to be, and the village square held more flower beds than market stalls.
It was the sort of place where people measured time by seasons instead of meetings.
Elodie pressed her face against the carriage window.
"Do people always walk this slowly?"
Lucien smiled.
"I think they enjoy it."
"They'll never win races."
"I don't think they're trying."
She considered that with great seriousness before nodding.
"That makes more sense."
Maeve spotted them first.
The older healer stood outside her cottage hanging bundles of drying herbs beneath the porch roof. She looked from Lucien to Elodie and then toward the closed front door before letting out a quiet sigh that carried more understanding than surprise.
"I wondered how long it would take."
Lucien stepped down from the carriage.
"I wasn't sure she'd want visitors."
"She doesn't."
The answer landed with painful honesty.
Maeve's expression softened.
"But that doesn't always mean she doesn't want you."
Before Lucien could respond, the cottage door opened.
Iris stepped outside carrying a basket filled with folded linens. She wore a simple cream blouse with the sleeves rolled to her elbows and a long brown skirt dusted with flour near the hem. Her hair had been gathered into a loose braid that had already begun escaping around her face.
She looked healthier.
Not happier.
Simply... lighter.
The moment she saw them, she stopped.
Surprise crossed her face first.
Then uncertainty.
Elodie climbed down before Lucien could help her.
"Iris!"
The little girl ran across the yard with complete confidence, the cloth rabbit bouncing against her side.
Iris set the basket down just in time to catch her.
"Hello, sweetheart."
"I learned how to braid grass."
"You did?"
"And I only made one knot I couldn't untie."
"That sounds like excellent progress."
Elodie beamed.
Lucien watched the exchange from several steps away.
There was no hesitation in Iris's embrace, no careful distance because of everything that had happened. She held the little girl exactly as she had before leaving the Alpha House, with easy affection and quiet patience.
The sight filled him with relief.
It also made him miss her so fiercely that he had to steady himself before walking forward.
"I should have written first."
Iris looked up.
"Probably."
"I almost did."
"What changed your mind?"
He glanced toward Elodie.
"She asked."
Understanding softened Iris's features.
"Then I'm glad you came."
The words weren't an invitation.
They weren't a rejection either.
Maeve clapped her hands together.
"Good. Since everyone has decided to stand in my garden looking emotionally complicated, I'll make tea."
"I can help," Iris offered.
Maeve pointed firmly toward the porch.
"You can visit."
"I know where you keep everything."
"So do I. Sit down."
The older woman disappeared into the cottage before anyone could argue.
Elodie wandered toward the vegetable beds.
"Can I pick tomatoes?"
Maeve's voice floated through the open window.
"Only the red ones."
"How red?"
"If you have to ask, leave it alone."
Lucien watched the child crouch beside the garden, talking very seriously to each tomato before deciding whether it qualified.
A reluctant smile touched his face.
"I think she's negotiating with vegetables."
Iris followed his gaze.
"It happens more often here than you'd expect."
They sat on the wooden bench outside the cottage.
The silence between them felt different from the ones they had shared in the Alpha House.
Not easier.
Simply quieter.
No council members waited nearby.
No servants interrupted.
Nothing demanded their attention except the afternoon itself.
Lucien rested his forearms on his knees.
"How have you been?"
She smiled faintly.
"People always ask that when they don't know where else to begin."
"I suppose they do."
"I've been sleeping."
"I'm glad."
"I forgot what eight uninterrupted hours felt like."
His chest tightened.
"I didn't know you weren't sleeping."
"I know."
Neither of them spoke for several moments.
Across the garden, Elodie proudly held up a tomato nearly the size of both her hands.
"I found one!"
Maeve leaned out the window.
"You found three. Put two back."
"They're friends."
"They'll survive the separation."
The little girl sighed dramatically before obeying.
Iris laughed.
The sound caught Lucien off guard.
Not because it was unfamiliar.
Because it reminded him of the woman who had laughed with him beneath the old oak tree on their wedding night.
"You've laughed more today than I heard in months."
She looked down at her hands.
"It surprised me too."
"I missed it."
"I know."
There was no accusation in her voice.
Only quiet acceptance.
Maeve eventually brought tea and fresh biscuits onto the porch before announcing she had important business involving bread that absolutely could not wait. Lucien suspected she simply wanted to leave them alone.
She was probably right.
Elodie climbed onto the bench between them, carefully balancing her biscuit on one knee.
"I learned something."
Lucien smiled.
"Oh?"
"Maeve says carrots don't grow faster if you yell at them."
Iris nodded thoughtfully.
"Wise advice."
"I didn't yell."
"No?"
"I only encouraged them."
Lucien hid a laugh behind his cup.
"I've been told encouragement works better."
The child looked very pleased with herself.
She broke her biscuit into three uneven pieces and held one toward Iris.
"This one's yours."
"Thank you."
Another piece went to Lucien.
"And this one's yours."
"What about you?"
"I have the biggest one."
She looked completely satisfied with that arrangement.
They ate quietly together.
For a few minutes, the afternoon almost resembled an ordinary family visit.
Almost.
Elodie studied them over the edge of her cup.
Children noticed things adults believed they hid well.
She tilted her head.
"Can I ask something?"
Lucien nodded.
"Of course."
The little girl looked from him to Iris and back again.
"Why does everyone look sad when they see us together?"
The question settled gently over the porch.
No accusation.
No blame.
Simple curiosity.
Lucien opened his mouth.
Nothing came.
He searched for an answer that a five year old could understand.
One that was honest without placing the weight of adult mistakes onto small shoulders.
He found none.
Iris looked toward the garden before meeting Elodie's eyes again.
Sometimes she always knew what to say.
Today she didn't.
The silence stretched just long enough for Elodie to notice it.
"I wasn't trying to make anyone upset."
"You didn't," Lucien answered quietly.
"You never could."
The little girl accepted that explanation, though it clearly failed to answer her question. She returned her attention to the rabbit in her lap, humming softly as she brushed imaginary dust from one floppy ear.
Lucien looked at Iris.
"I don't know how to explain this."
She gave a sad smile.
"Neither do I."
It was the first time since she left that they had admitted the same truth at the same moment.
Neither of them knew how to carry the life they had built before Elodie arrived.
Neither of them knew how to protect her from the sorrow surrounding adults who loved each other and still couldn't seem to find their way back.
As the afternoon sun slipped lower across Oakbend, Lucien realized something that stayed with him long after the visit ended.
The child sitting between them had never come between their hearts.
She had only arrived after the distance was already there.
And somehow...
that truth hurt even more.