Well, so be it. 

He carries Ophel to bed, and sleeps. 

Voltur awakens to an empty bed.

He rolls out of bed on sheer instinct, head whipping wildly around, a dagger already in hand-

Oh. 

He tosses it down, and it sticks and vibrates in the floorboard. 

He left, of course. Ran away, again. 

He scowls. 

He thunders downstairs. 

"Talen-"

"Your Grace. I regret that I was not present to awaken you when Lord Ophel departed, but passers-by indicate that he left shortly before dawn, in something of a hurry. I took the liberty of procuring a lock of his hair, in case you should wish to require that your Court Wizard attempt to scry for him."

He deflates. 

"I see."

"No, thank you, Talen. Good morning."

He returns to bed. 

It is a cloudy morning, but warm, and the sun shines through periodically until the wind spirits decide that they are bored again. That is good enough.

Galora’s maid chaperones them, walking twelve paces behind. Ambrose can speak more freely out here, out in the open air, but if he knows anything now, it is that the maid will be reporting every word she catches back to Lord Kreel. He still has to be careful.

But Galora is on his arm, and everything feels right in the world.

“You look beautiful, Miss Kreel.”

That is a matter of careful practice, and the fact that really, she saved Father a great deal of possible embarrassment. She was still punished, of course, but she purchased thereby a little less. So she can walk, today, and smile and not look any different to Ambrose's eyes. 

It's crucial that their engagement happen soon, before there's a chance for anything to go wrong. 

But she can almost taste it, now, the day when she can watch him die. 

Now, how to make the boy hers entire...

She smiles coyly, tucking her hair behind her ear with her free hand. "Why thank you. And how was your afternoon with your... liege-lord... yesterday?"

The wizard makes a face. “It was…”

He trails off and sighs, his forehead scrunching. 

“Did you read it, yesterday? The issue of Whistledown?”

She manages not to flinch. It had been read to her, actually, under less than pleasant circumstances. 

"I did." She licks her lips. "At least I am not to be courted by a boring man. Have you ever been tempted to make up more rumours about yourself, just to see how much they'll swallow?"

She feels as his bicep releases the tension built up since yesterday.

“You mean you do not believe what she wrote?”

Got you. 

She laughs. "Believe Whistledown? No one treats it as any more than entertainment, if they have sense." 

"Which is not saying much in our beloved ton, but I do set my intellectual sights higher than that, Lord Ambrose."

He looks at her softly, with so much gratitude.

“That is– that is a relief. Truly. I had worried that you would not wish to associate with me, after… that.” He draws in a breath, somehow more stressed than when Taralda would assign him papers due the previous morning. “I know that you have not known me long, and perhaps I did not make a good impression, but I assure you, I am nothing like what she has made me out to be. Or my family – my brother is an idiot, and my father can often be preoccupied with his work, and my mother is sometimes overbearing, but– we are a good people.”

There is a pause.

“I apologise. I did not mean to sound defensive.”

She smiles sweetly, blandly, "I am sure you are."

And then she says nothing for a moment. 

This is a slightly risky ploy, but... acceptable, she thinks. This needs to go well. 

"I say, Lord Ambrose, wizards study Draconic, do they not? I never could master it myself. Perhaps as we go you could teach me? I might learn better."

And then:

"I speak it fluently, but our chaperone does not know that. I don't care what Whistledown writes, and my father is powerless after what the queen did. You can defend them freely, like this, if you like."

“I– yes. Of course, Miss Kreel. Here is a sample sentence.” He plays along so beautifully. “…Thank you. Were you well, last night, after I left you?”

It tugs at her heart that that's his first thought. 

She needs to be careful.

"...No, but I am now. My father is swift to anger."

“Your enunciation is very good, but it could use some work.”

“…Galora, does he strike you?”

She notes distantly that she's having trouble staying detached, in control, in this conversation. 

Deep breath. 

She's already taken risks just to get here. 

She's... never actually told anyone. Her family already knows, of course, and it's not like anyone else could or would help. 

"...Does yours not?"

Remember, Ambrose, you are being watched.

“No.” He swallows, his grip on her tightening protectively. “That is not… that is wrong.”

“…Have I made things worse?”

She leans a little closer to him, and again, to her amazement, she feels real tears prick at the corners of her eyes. 

She thought Father was unusual but she didn't actually have proof, that's good to know. 

Yes. You have. Because now I feel things and it makes me easier to hurt and now i have to worry about you as well. 

She can't say that, obviously. 

"No," she says, "he was angry, but he is often angry. He cannot hurt me too much now for fear of you noticing something."

He relaxes by the slightest fraction. “Good. Good, make sure he knows I have committed you to memory.”

They stop for a moment, long enough for Ambrose to pick her a flower. “Do you know what this is called in Draconic?”

She smirks a little bit. "You know, to be really safe, you'd have to commit a lot more of me to memory."

He nearly chokes. It is so sweet, how quickly his pale skin flushes when she teases him.

“I– I see. I… Have you considered going to the Queen about this? Or the Kingsguard, or somebody else who might be able to protect you?”

Oh you sweet innocent boy you shouldn't be caught up in this. 

He really has no idea.

"I... know someone who tried that. It didn't work, and things got... worse. He's a very dangerous man." 

But then, she's a very dangerous woman.

“Surely this would be different. I would protect you.”

There is a naive courage, a resolve to his voice.