Chapter Text



Hibiscus flickr photo by jepoirrier shared under a Creative Commons (BY-SA) license

If William’s behaviour was anything to go by, ‘war’ was less bloody battles and more reclusive letter-writing. At least for vampires. Or maybe even just for him: it wasn’t exactly out of character, after all. Maybe this was how he solved all of his problems.

William spent all his time secluded in his study, writing and receiving letters. If it wasn’t for his regular pilgrimages to the small table in the entryway, where Red would leave the letters he’d received that day, Red might have wondered whether he had run away in the middle of the night. He was so focused on the letters and sorting through the things he kept in the storeroom near the bedroom, that he didn’t go out on two of his usual feeding days.

He didn’t show any sign of starving, though: no shortened temper and no shakiness. Admittedly, Red had never seen William starving, but those were what he had been told to look out for. The idea that William might be hiding things from him made heat prickle at the back of his neck.

Red wondered how long William could keep this up, or whether vampires would even show signs of starving before it was almost too late. He wasn’t even sure if there was a ‘too late’. He barely knew anything about vampires, not really.

Red felt selfish, sitting around doing nothing, especially since he was the reason William needed to go hungry with this war of writing long, intricate letters. At least he had company, a distraction.

Lucia was pleasant enough to spend time with—she knew different recipes than William did, and she had a great sense of humour. Moreover, it felt good to have someone normal to share food with, someone who actually ate. Somehow, he’d forgotten what that was like; it was odd to have a dining companion with a warm meal set out in front of her, to see her movement from the corner of his eye and to hear the gentle clinking of her cutlery and her comments about the food.

Red was surprised at how little Lucia seemed to have been bothered by everything. She wasn’t angry or resentful about being kidnapped, and didn’t seem to be the least bit conflicted about cooking dinner for someone she had been ordered to murder a few days ago. She was far less cautious and wary of him than he was of her.

Red, on the other hand, felt guilt gnaw at him for fighting back, even though he knew he couldn’t have done anything differently, not when his life was at stake. She would have stabbed him where he stood and he still felt awful about fighting back or inconveniencing her. He felt ridiculous when he wasn’t feeling swallowed by his guilt.

“I’m sorry about all this,” Red told her, for what must have been the fifth time. It kept bubbling out of him, the words already out before he could stop them. “I hope you’re not too lonely, without your friends. Without Elodia.”

“Don’t worry. There are benefits to being a thrall.” Lucia chuckled. “They almost make up for being kidnapped from time to time.”

“This has happened to you before?”

“This is my third time. I’m just glad that it was for a good reason for once. I really didn't want to cut your throat,” she said, playfully ruffling Red’s thick black hair.

His hand cupped his throat, remembering the feeling of the knife. “You didn’t have to, you know. You could have said no,” he muttered. He thought of how she had done it, not flinching, and struggled to merge that image with the one in front of him now.

Lucia laughed, drifting further from the dangerous image of her in his head. “You’ll understand someday.” She was grinning, but there was a glassiness to her eyes. Something had shut down, shut him out.

It must have been what she had talked about before—only a few days earlier, but it seemed like a lifetime ago: the irresistible commands that she said vampires gave. He wondered whether William would order him to kill someone, one day, as casually as Elodia had ordered his death. He wondered whether William had already ordered him something. Would he know? Would he feel it?

“So, they do this a lot? Wars? Kidnapping?” He paused. “Killing?”

“They need to keep themselves amused, I suppose.” She shrugged. Now she wouldn’t meet his eyes at all. “You know how they are.”

The next evening, Red was waiting for William when he woke up. He wasn’t in the bed, holding him or stroking his hair or reading, waiting, as he had done so often in the past. He was in the living room, sitting in one of the armchairs, holding a piece of paper. He’d scribbled his questions onto it, worried he might forget something. He had started chewing on the pencil waiting for William to get up. There were splinters in his tongue.

William entered the living room and evaluated the situation: Red was tense, more tense than usual, and the piece of paper held roughly in his hands did not bode well.

“Is everything alright, my dear?”

William was wearing a navy blue suit with a forest green shirt. He wore no tie. Red wished he had whatever vampire magic would let him understand the message William had no doubt intended to send with this ensemble, because any information about William’s state of mind would be welcome. He’d been stressed lately, Red at least knew that much. The way he seemed to notice things just a little later than he would normally; the way his muscles always seemed tense. It had been growing worse with each letter he sent.

Red tried not to think about how this was all because of him. He couldn’t dwell on it, especially right now.

He looked down at his little list of talking points. Thinking of how it was his fault, then this… he had to quash down a wave of guilt. Like he was being ungrateful just for asking. But he had to. It gnawed at him. He had to ask. He had to know.

Red frowned. There were pencil shards in his teeth, too. “Do you have a minute?”

William stifled a sigh; he felt like he didn’t, he had research to do and a letter to write. But he could tell from Red’s anxiety that there was no way he could delay this conversation. “Very well.”

“Okay. Well. I was wondering…” Red took a deep breath, as William sat in the chair opposite him. He would have felt silly, but William was looking at him without the tiniest hint of scorn or even boredom. “I have heard… things… about vampires. And I’m a bit worried. About… what you’re capable of.”

“You know I’d never hurt you.”

“I know, I know that, but… I still need to know what you can do, if that makes sense? Not that I think you would, just...” He couldn’t find the words.

But William did what he always did when Red trailed off: waited long enough to be sure he wasn’t going to finish the thought, then filled in the meaning. He knew what Red meant. He always did. William nodded. “I know. It makes sense.” He placed his hand, gently, on Red’s knee. “What did you need to know?”

He inhaled deeply again, looking at the note on his scrap of paper. Focusing on it. “Can you read minds?”

“No, I can’t.”

Red couldn’t tell if he was lying. There was no way to know whether he was lying. He didn’t bother to hide his frown. He looked at his paper, then back at William. “Tell me a lie real quick.”

“I am wearing a yellow shirt.” He said, with the same calm, patient manner about him as before.

Red tried to suppress a smile. “You know, if I was colour blind that would be really rude.”

William smiled. “Colourblindness doesn’t work that way.”

“What if it did? What if I have a new colour blindness and I am a marvel to modern science?”

“Firstly, if it did, or if you did, I would have noticed that, and chosen a different lie. Secondly, you are a marvel.” He said, in the same smooth way he gave Red compliments whenever he got too excited about something. He loved when Red got excited about something.

Red grinned, ducking his head in embarrassment. The compliments still always felt new. He crossed the first item on his list with his little chewed up pencil. “Okay.” He read the next thing. He hesitated. “So. I heard you can give people orders. Not… normal orders, but orders they have to obey. Is that true?”

He didn’t like asking it. No matter how William answered, he’d not be able to trust him. He wanted to. But he couldn’t.

Who had told Red that?

It must have been Lucia, perhaps on one of their shopping trips. William considered his options: if he lied, Red would find out sooner or later. He’d never done it to Red—of course not, who could possibly be content with a lover so ignobly acquired?—but he had controlled humans in front of Red before: maybe Red remembered, or had noticed. No doubt he’d need to do it in the future. If he told the truth, Red would never trust him again. And if he lied, Red might not believe him anyway.

“Yes,” he replied, simply. Red wanted the truth, and he found himself surprised that it had mattered enough to tip the scales.

Red started. He had expected a denial, or for it to be couched, at the very least. “What?”

“I can give people—well, humans—orders. And they obey. Remember when I spoke to that American soldier as we were leaving Rome? And then he let us through?”

“Oh,” Red replied. He didn’t really remember; he’d been so paralysed by terror the whole night felt like a fever dream. “So, does that mean…”

The situation, now, was more terrifying still.

“You want to know if I’ve done it to you?”

Red nodded. The guilt washed over him again. He knew William had done a lot for him, was doing a lot for him, but the thought that he might be… that his feelings weren’t…

It made him feel sick.

“No, I haven’t,” William said, simply.

He stared at William. He thought he had prepared enough for whatever he heard. He hadn’t. A small, very negative, part of him was sure that William must have done it at some point. Being loved and respected the way William seemed to love and respect him seemed unrealistic, too good to be true. “Why? Why not, I mean?” He said finally.

“I wouldn’t be happy, knowing that you were… compelled.”

Red felt his shoulders relax for a moment—only for a moment—before he glanced at his notes again.

At the bottom. Underlined. So he wouldn’t forget.

Could he be?

“Look, I… I want to believe that. I do.” He said earnestly, feeling like he was being cruel just by saying that. “But how do I know that’s true?”

He shook his head. “You don’t. I would be happy to tell you the limits, if you’d find that comforting,” he considered how to phrase it. “It’s… not as far reaching as you may think.”

“…go on.”

He sighed. William didn’t envision himself telling these secrets, but Red was so anxious that William wanted nothing more than to calm him down, to reassure him. It seemed worth the risk. “As near as I can tell, the orders I give last only a minute or two. And…” he considered whether he wanted to tell Red this next part, with all it implied. “It does not appear to be possible to compel a man to do something so against his nature that he would sooner die.”

“Wait, what do you mean by that?”

He sighed. “Say, for example, one were to order a man to kill his infant son.”

Red’s face contorted in horror.

William winced, guilty at the pain he’d just inflicted. “He will refuse, despite the strength of the order.”

“So, if you order someone to do something horrible, they won’t do it?”

“Yes,” he replied, knowing full well that none of this served to negate the possibility of everything that Red might be worried about. In fact, it probably provided very little comfort. But it was the truth. He hoped that would be comfort enough.

“Okay.” Red sat back in his chair, thinking. He rubbed his stubble, not looking at William, staring at one of the paintings on the wall, processing. “Is there anything else I should know?”

He sighed. “Of course there is. There are hundreds of secrets I may yet keep, and dozens of secrets I’m considering sharing with you.”

Red’s gaze slid back. “About this, specifically?”

For the first time that Red could remember, William looked unsure of what to say. His relaxed, straight posture stiffened; he crossed his legs; and he rubbed each of his fingernails in turn as he stared at a point above Red’s left shoulder. “It is not… something you should know.”

“Why?” He asked, sitting up himself. “If this is something you can do, other… people like you can too, right? Shouldn’t I know about it for that reason, at least?”

He sighed, putting his head into his hands. “I worry for you. I do. Particularly after… what just happened. But I can’t…”

Red chewed the inside of his cheek, the scarred part that never seemed to heal right, bitten too many times while eating too quickly. He wanted to touch William to comfort him, but didn’t know if he could reach out. It seemed too much like giving up—

and what if it makes it too hard to keep having this conversation—

But he had to. He reached out and put his hand over William’s, squeezing it gently.

William let out another sigh, almost defeated. He returned the gesture, squeezing Red’s hand, relishing the care and the warmth contained in the gesture.

Finally, he spoke. “It’s a taboo of the highest order. Any secret I reveal, I reveal for all of us, forever.”

“Would it be so terrible if I knew things about you? Your kind?” He snorted with laughter, a little, suddenly struck by the absurdity of the whole situation. “What am I really going to do with it?”

He smiled. “Some fool once told a human servant that we were harmed by wooden stakes through the heart.”

“I assumed a wooden stake through the heart would kill most things.”

He chuckled. “Yes, but a knife to the heart does nothing, so it’s a useful distinction.”

“Huh. I always assumed it was a lucky guess. Medieval people working with what they had?”

“There are those, too,” William admitted, and sat quietly for a moment. He looked at Red’s hands, and then into his eyes, and smiled. He looked away, at the floor. “Are you still worried? Now you know that my power is limited?” He asked, knowing that Red had only his word that this limit even existed.

Red hesitated. He didn’t want to rush his answer. He had never been able to get this clear an answer about anything before, he worried about messing it up. About saying the wrong thing or missing something and regretting it later.

“I am,” Red said finally. “I am worried about me, about what could happen. From you, from others.” He lifted his eyes to meet William’s, hoping he would be able to tell if he lied. “I trust you with my life. I do. And I understand that you’re scared of telling me things, but don’t I deserve that kind of trust too?”

“And you have it: you could drag me into the sun any time you wished—”

Red laughed, not a real one, that little snort again. “When have I ever been able to physically drag you anywhere?”

“You have never tried. I’m no heavier than any human my size, and you’re strong. You would manage.” He paused. “Or you could pay a townsperson to help you. Or you could drag me onto a cart and pull me out. Or you could borrow an automobile and drive through the walls of the house. Or you could make a hole in the roof.” He gestured, his hand making a circling motion that gave the impression that these were just the first ideas that came to mind. “You have options.”

Red stared at him. “I had actually forgotten how much you think about this kind of thing. I can’t say I’ve ever spent so much time thinking about how people could kill me.”

“And that’s just how you could kill me by putting me in the sun.”

“Isn’t that tiring? Thinking about this?”

He laughed. “A vampire who is not paranoid rarely lives more than a few centuries.”

Red smiled and squeezed his hand. Red’s smile faded as he remembered why they were having this conversation in the first place.

He glanced back at the writing at the bottom of his notes.

Did he trust William to tell the truth now, despite all the power he claimed to have and all the secrets he was keeping? “So… do you understand why I’m being paranoid right now?”

William sighed. “What do you want? I have given you my word.”

“Can you tell me anything? Something to help me here?”

He bit his bottom lip, pondering this. What could he tell him? What would even be good enough? “If I told you something you could use—something reasonably common—that would render you immune to such orders, would you accept that? I’d need your word before I told you.”

Red sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I can’t promise that I’ll be happy with it. I can promise I won’t ask again today, but I can’t guarantee I’ll be fine with this a month, a year from now. I can’t make promises for my future self.”

“I hope you understand that you are asking for something substantial.”

“I know. I know I am. And I hate asking, with everything going on, but… I need to know.” Guilt, anxiety, everything was gnawing at him. He hated this, hated asking, but he had to know. He had to know more. “So, where does that leave us then?”

It wasn’t what he meant to say. He meant to say ‘this.’ Where does that leave this then?

Where does that leave us then?

He didn’t want to think about it. What that meant.

“You trust me, don’t you?” William asked.

“Yes. Do you trust me?”

“I do.” He paused. “Do you still have those dark glasses of yours?” William asked, his tone of voice way too casual, as though he was just curious about Red’s fashion choices rather than what the context dictated they must be for.

Red hesitated. He wondered if William had just decided to change the topic now. “Do you… not like them?”

He smiled. “No, that’s not what I meant.” He placed his hand on Red’s knee. “If you wear them, you need not obey us.”

“What? How?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It requires eye contact, so it must interfere.”

“Wow, really? That’s all?”

He smiled. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

Red drummed his fingers on his chin. “Would it be strange if I tested it? Not that I don’t trust you,” he added hastily. “I just… want to see.”

“I’ve never done it to you. I always worried that if I did it once, there would be no coming back from that.”

Red smiled, and lunged forward to embrace him in a hug. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” William hugged him back. “It would be… uncomfortable to do it to you. But if you want me to, I will.”

Red pulled back to look at him. He pressed his forehead to William’s. “It’s okay. I trust you.”

He stroked Red’s cheek. “Thank you.” He kissed him, long and soft, full of tenderness and gratitude. “If you ever change your mind, let me know.”



Markus3 (Marc ROUSSEL), Porto-Vecchio église St-Jean-Baptiste , CC BY-SA 2.5

A few days later, William went out to feed—or that’s what he told Red. Red was relieved that he was finally getting something to eat, instead of staying holed up in his study.

And he wasn’t being entirely dishonest: he did feed on the way, after all.

But afterwards, he went to Portovecchio, to keep the meeting he had arranged with Cassius soon after the war was declared. He knew the war would bring Cassius to Corsica, to aid and advise one of the Duchesses in his territory; and William hoped he could convince Cassius to talk Elodia out of her stubbornness.

Cassius was waiting when William arrived at the foot of the Church St-Jean-Baptiste, a hundred-year old stone building in the centre of the old town. Much like William, he was impeccably dressed in modern style: suit and tie, brown shoes and belt, black gloves and a black fedora. Cassius was leaning against the rough hewn stone wall, staring at an old man begging on the corner by the bakery. It was early in the night, so there were people making their way around, coming home with their bread for dinner, walking past the old man as though he wasn’t there. Cassius smiled when he saw William approach.

“Thank you for taking the time to see me, your majesty.” William bowed.

“It’s a pleasure. How have you been, your majesty?” Cassius bowed in return.

“I have been in the highest spirits. The stars are growing more beautiful by the day and I trust they portend a prosperous season for us both.”

Cassius chuckled. “What’s got you in such a formal mood?”

“I pride myself on my manners, your majesty.”

Cassius snorted. “I don’t.”

“You don’t need to.”

“Lighten up. Do you want to make a wager?” Cassius offered, a sparkle in his eyes.

William smiled; they had shared a fondness of betting games since long ago. “Did you have something particular in mind?”

Cassius nodded to the beggar. “I’ve been here since a few minutes after sunset. Nobody has given this man so much as a roll. I wager that he will still be empty-handed by the time we are done here.”

William looked over to the old man; his clothes were filthy, but in decent condition. He was thin but not emaciated. Weak but not frail. He found himself feeling sorry for him, thinking about how hungry he must be. Remembering how Red would buy blankets in the winter to give to people he saw sleeping on the street.

He didn’t like how uncomfortable this made him. He especially didn’t like that this made him uncomfortable in the first place. He took a breath to calm his nerves, enjoying the cool air entering his lungs. He retrieved some paper money from his pocket.

Cassius frowned. “You want to wager with human money?” He didn’t like human money; it made him feel like there was a film of something disgusting on his hands. Yet, William had reached for it so casually, without thinking twice. At least they weren’t coins, perish the thought!

William shook his head. “I’m not inclined to spend the whole evening watching your new favourite human,” he replied, walking over to the old man and wordlessly handing him the money. The old man stared at it—it was more than he would have hoped to receive in a month’s worth of begging—and stammered a quick thank you before folding it into his pocket. William wished him a good evening, and walked back to stand beside Cassius. He felt better; the uncomfortable dryness in his throat had subsided.

“That’s not a very gentlemanly way to win a bet.” Cassius grinned.

“I don’t have time for games. In case you didn’t hear, I’m at war.”

“I assume that’s what you wanted to speak to me about?”

William hesitated, moving to lean against the wall beside Cassius. “I am nervous.” He didn’t like admitting weakness, but he knew that it was obvious to Cassius that he’d called the meeting because he was worried he might lose.

“You were stupid to start it.”

“She’s a duchess. She is no match for me.” William replied automatically, almost defensive.

“Then why be nervous?”

“She wants to write operas. Poetry. Music. You know that creativity is not one of my virtues,” William muttered, knowing it had to have been Cassius who had told her as much.

“She tells me you want to have an axe-fight. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Wars aren’t fair. Children should know that before they challenge their elders.”

“You challenged her.”

“She should have relented.”

“She should have relented?” Cassius laughed.

“Yes.”

They stood in silence, staring at the beggar; an old woman approached him and gave him the remnants of yesterday’s baguette. He smiled and thanked her, and she left for the bakery. This, too, gave William an odd feeling of relief that made him shift his weight, relaxing his shoulders.

Cassius was the one who spoke first. “Were you taking me too seriously? When I told you to be careful with that human of mine?”

William bristled. Human of mine. Red wasn’t—

He held his tongue. He was in no position to be arguing that now. “The fact that I have a reputation for carelessness is a concern, yes,” he said, trying to sound unperturbed.

“What you’re doing is coming across a lot worse than having poor self-control at dinnertime,” Cassius paused, considering his words, like a parent explaining a child shouldn’t throw food. “You must know that if you cannot agree on how to fight, then as Elodia’s king I will choose for both of you. I will try to be fair to you as an old friend, but I will not send one of my subjects to a war she has no hope of winning.”

“Then tell her to surrender.”

“I have; she says she’ll take the human’s head and a duchy.”

William considered this. “Any duchy?” There was an uncomfortable knot in his stomach; it must have been because he didn’t want to divide his territory further. Human servants were bought and sold too regularly for it to be anything to do with Red. He glanced back to the beggar, who was eating the bread with a smile on his wrinkled face.

“It would need to be a good one. Better than the one you gave me for the human.”

“So I’ll have given up two duchies and not even get to keep the human.” The words felt hollow even as he said them. Who was he kidding? Red’s life was not a price he could pay.

“Better to lose two duchies than a war.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You have dozens!”

“A small price to pay to avoid a war,” Cassius said, pausing to place a gentle hand on William’s shoulder. “I say this to you as a friend, King William of New Holland: people are already spreading a rumour that your relationship with that human was inappropriate. It will be to your advantage to kill it, before people begin to take it seriously.”

“I don’t think I shall be doing that, King Cassius of the Eternal City,” William muttered. “Thank you all the same, but I believe that he may yet be worth the trouble.”

Cassius laughed. “Suit yourself, your majesty.”

When William returned, Red was waiting in the doorway, backlit by the hallway light, glancing at a book but not absorbing the words. All the time spent shut in his study, and then going away for three hours to ‘eat’… Red was worried. He knew it had to be about the war. He smiled weakly when William came up the path.

“Good evening. Is there some trouble?” William asked; normally, when he returned home, the first words Red said were some sort of invitation. Instead, he sat there on the steps, his shoulders stiff, and his jaw clenched. William knew what that meant.

Red shook his head. “No, I just…”

William stared for a moment; Red had that faint anxiety, a tension, about him again. It was unfamiliar, after all this time. “I have a lot on my mind. I’ll be busy for a while.” The enormity of the risk he was taking with this war had begun to reach William, and his gross error in predicting the winds of fashion was beginning to have consequences.

Red rushed to him wrapping his arms around his rib cage, burying his face in William’s chest. William squeezed him back, holding Red’s warm body close to him. It brought with it a delicate warmth and joy. He knew, to his dawning horror, that he could never allow Elodia to get her hands on Red. He kissed Red’s ear, glad that he could quell the urge to cry.

“I missed you.” Red murmured, so softly it was barely audible. “And I’m sorry for… what happened. What I did. That you have to do this because of me. I’m sorry.”

“It is not your fault.”

“Yes it is. I… I spilled it. The blood. It’s my fault and you’re paying for it.”

“I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”

“But I still messed up.”

“It is my fault for putting you in danger, and I knew the risks.”

“You could have…” Red felt like the words were choking him. “You could have just let her kill me.”

William smiled. “Never. You shouldn’t suffer for my mistake.”

Red didn’t want to respond to that: after deserting, after failing, after everything, he almost felt he would have deserved it.

He couldn’t find the words. He stepped back, cupping William’s cheeks with his hands, staring, drinking him in. “What’s going to happen?” Red said finally, burying one of his hands in William's curly blonde hair.

“Everything Duchess Elodia has been sending me seems promising.” William started, deciding that Red ought to know the truth. It felt… lighter, somehow, not to avoid things. To tell the truth. “She also thinks amassing armies would be terribly old fashioned, and may cause unfavourable interactions with the volatile human political climate. She wishes for us to write operas, but I am not a creative sort as she is, and I was hoping for a quicker resolution to this as my lands will require my attention within the next few years if I wish to keep them.”

Red felt like he had been jerked out of the sombre mood like a cat being picked up by the scruff of the neck. “Write operas?” He repeated. “Writing actual operas?” He had to wonder if this strange story was one of William’s ways of keeping his vampire secrets.

Based on what he’d seen so far, he doubted it.

“It is one of the ways we could battle.”

“There are others? So, what do you want to do?”

“I would quite like to duel with axes,” William explained calmly. “However, I don’t think either of us will get our way.”

Red was baffled at the thought of William being the sort of person who would prefer to get into an axe-fight than write a play full of long songs. With all the outfits, the manners, the dignity he had, an axe-fight felt too… primal. He tried to avoid thinking about the realities of an actual axe fight. An actual axe fight between vampires. He kind of wanted to see it. At the very least, he wanted to see William throw an axe. He wondered how far he could throw.

“So what happens then?” He said finally. Asking William to throw an axe for him was not important right now.

“We’ll make a compromise. I have quite a collection of antiquities, many thanks to your help,” William kissed his forehead. “So I feel I may have an advantage in a tribute war. I believe she feels that this advantage may be hers.” He had come up with the plan on the journey home; Cassius likely did not know how well stocked William’s arsenal, such as it was, would be.

“A tribute war?”

“We exchange gifts, until the loser concedes that they have nothing of greater value to offer.”

“That doesn't sound like much of a war.” Red said, relieved. It would, at least, be much less dangerous than axes and much less time-consuming than operas.

“I have spent centuries accumulating my assets, and they all are uniquely suited for their purposes. In a war, the meaning of the tribute is irrelevant, only its value.”

Red nodded as though he understood. It made him think of when his mother had a perceived slight from his aunt so they started bringing each other meals and making passive-aggressive comments to show simmering hatred. He had found it odd, even as a child.

“The war will deplete my reserves considerably, even if I am victorious. Any items I receive from her will become publicly known, and will lose their value for quite some time.”

“Oh.” Red snuggled back into William’s chest, breathing in the musty smell of his shirt.

“I know it must be hard to spend your evenings alone, but I have much to do. I must get back to writing.” Now it was William’s turn to cradle Red’s face, pushing his hair away from his forehead. “Let me assure you that when I have finished you will once again have my full attention.”

Red smiled a little at this. “Thank you. You should come inside.” Reluctantly, he let go of William. “And I appreciate it.”

“It is worth every moment.”