Alfred dropped Ruven’s hands and fell to his knees, sobbing with joy. “Pick one of the roses, please, Ruven… Just one.” There was a bit of noise, and movement, but Ruven quickly returned to the prince’s side and took his hand.

“I have one, sire.” He murmured, his voice very quiet. Alfred nodded in thanks and stood. “Still on to the palace, then?” He asked, and Alfred heard a touch of sadness, a tender note of melancholy…

“Yes, please.” He whispered, afraid of Ruven’s voice. The two set off again, Ruven describing in detail the road to the village, winding up from the edge of the forest, connecting to the Perbrook Road. Alfred recognized the smell of cedar, the trees lining the path to the palace. He smiled, and almost wept for joy.

He and Ruven slowly moved up the road, the wind rustled the leaves on the fragrant trees, and moved Alfred’s hair away from his face. Its touch soothed him, its sweet smell reminded him of Sioni, of happiness he’d long forgotten, or stopped believing in.

“Home…”