Riven settled their pup into the den-bed, then slipped beneath the covers and—out of habit—draped an arm around Freya’s waist.
“You seem troubled tonight,” he murmured softly. “An anniversary isn’t about the date. It’s about who you spend it with.”
A faint smile tugged at his lips as he thought of the surprise he was saving.
On her upcoming moon-birthday, he planned to unveil a new brand under the Corvath trade banners—one named after her, “Freya.”
He’d reveal it in a week. He wanted it to be perfect.
Freya stayed silent, afraid that if she spoke even a word, her voice, raw and trembling, would betray every secret fracture in her heart.
She lay stiff in his hold and gave only a faint, muffled sound of acknowledgment.
By the time Riven thought to say more, he noticed she had already drifted off. Kael, worn out from playing, slept soundly curled against her.
Then Riven’s crystal-crystal comms lit up.
It was Sorenna.
He slowly slid his arm from beneath Freya’s neck and turned away from her before opening the message—guilt guiding his movements.
The moment Sorenna’s image appeared, wearing little more than silver moon-silks, he cleared his throat awkwardly.