It started with a picnic.
Charlotte demanded it.
Quite unexpectedly at breakfast, she stated that the fields outside the hamlet were "too golden to be wasted," and that the burnt bread Elias had inadvertently made the evening before would produce "excellent squirrel bricks, or picnic croutons, depending on how generous fate felt today."
Elias had not questioned.
He simply organized the basket. Finn, in a rare moment of grace, promised to stay behind "watch over the frog rebellion," which mostly meant that he had been bribed with a honey tart and Charlotte's sincere vow to let him colour her hair blue next week.
Thus they went. Past the creek where frogs plotted revolution, through tall wildflower grass, and up a soft hill where the sky seemed too broad to belong to anyone.
Charlotte sported a blue, slightly worn ribbon in her hair—perhaps snatched from a noble's slipper in a past life. Elias dressed in a tunic two sizes too huge, sleeves rolled to the elbow as if the sun might request a duel.
Sandwiches were eaten by them. She ridiculed his knife expertise. He threw a grape at her face. With royal accuracy, she avoided it and threw a piece of cheese back. It missed. Primarily. "Do you recall," she said between sips of lemonade, "when I was the one playing politics and you were the solemn blade in the corner with the emotional range of a doorknob? "Elias nodded his head. "I recall being the blade. I have no memory of the comment on the doorknob. "
"Oh, I thought it very often," she said sweetly. "You were handsome, infuriating, and somewhat tragically. Like a picture that is always raining. "He tilted back on his elbows and squinted at her. "And now? "She twirled a dandelion she picked from the grass. "Now you're weathered. " In a reassuring manner. Like an ancient bench that remembers every person who sat on it. ""That is worse in some ways. "She laughed. "You're warmer, though. " That's what I mean.
Elias did not answer instantly. Rather, he reached into the bag and pulled out a little wrapped package, silently handing it to her. She blinks. unrolled it gradually.
There was a battered, somewhat misaligned wooden hairpin inside. Carved in frog form, sporting a crown. Charlotte peered. Elias said uncomfortably, "It's a prototype. Finn assisted with the eyes. " They are erratic since he sneezes. She saw it. Then at him. Then laughed so loudly the butterflies in the yard flew off in terror. She asked, her eyes sparkling, "Is this a declaration of affection disguised as poor workmanship? "
"It's…a gesture," he murmured. Charlotte leaned over and placed the frog pin into her hair next to the ribbon.
"You realize this means we're unofficially wed in at least three woodland societies now," she said.
"Do any of them need frog duels? "
"Oh, all of them," she grinned. "I will need a gown created totally of moss and dramatic retribution. "
Elias smiled. And this time she saw it—how his gaze lingered on her like a man observing the impossible become real rather than a soldier to a king.
The wind moved.
The heavens increased in width.
Somewhere underneath, a frog croaked like a little fate trumpet. And Charlotte pondered—not with terror, but wonder: I feel like I am falling in love once more. And this time, I don't have to be witty regarding it. present only. Only her.
And he.
And a kingdom of wildflowers that sought nothing in return.