“No,” he said. “You’re a force. You are fire and loyalty and every kind of good thing. And I was a fool to think I could let you go. Not because you need me but I need you.”
Still, she hesitated. “You don’t have to say these things.”
“I do,” he said.
And then, finally, he stepped forward.
“I love you.”
She flinched at the word.
He saw it. He stepped forward. Slowly. “Yes. I said it.”
She froze.
“I love you,” he repeated, lower now. “And if that makes me a fool then let me be one.”
She stared at him. A long breath passed between them.
“I ought not believe you,” she whispered. “Not after everything.”
“I know.”
“And yet– ”
He reached for her hand. “Anna.”
She didn’t move.
“I love you.” he said, voice quieter now. “And I do not care if it makes me foolish. I do not care if it makes me weak. Because when my own cousin cornered you and I wasn’t there– I would have done anything to undo it.”
She stared at him. “You– ”
Her voice trembled. “You said loving someone was dangerous.”
“It is,” he said. “And I’ve never been braver.”
He hesitated.
“I know I have little right to ask anything of you,” he said. “But if I may, if you can find it in yourself to believe me, then I must ask you this.”
Her breath caught.
“Anna,” he said, steady now. “Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
She stared at him.
Her lips parted. She blinked once.
“Anna.”
“Marry me,” he said.
The words struck like a match and her heart caught in her chest.
She stared at him.
There was no jest in his eyes. No teasing, no careful deflection. Just Henry asking for something that terrified them both. A thousand thoughts flew through her mind, the ruin he’d left her in, the silence, the awful ache of waiting. But also the way he had looked at her when she was in danger. The way his voice had broken when he said he loved her. The way her name sounded in his mouth like promises of a lifetime.
