Gareth crossed the harem courtyard with a worn leather journal tucked under his arm. He told himself it was a gift for Lysander — pressed flowers, small kindnesses written down. He wanted, more than anything, to be wanted back. Not obeyed. Wanted. He found Lysander waiting beneath the silk-draped pavilion, barefoot on the mossy stone. Gareth's uniform creaked as he sat. The sword at his hip caught the light. He saw Lysander's eyes flick to it, then away. "I brought you something," Gareth said, and slid the journal across the bench. His voice sounded too loud. Too official. Lysander opened the cover with careful fingers, as if the pages might bite. "It's lovely," Lysander said quietly. He did not look up. "Should I thank the guard, or the man?" Gareth felt the question land. He understood, suddenly, that nothing he offered in this coat could be freely received. He stood. He unbuckled the sword belt and set it on the stone bench, well out of reach. Then the coat. He folded it with shaking hands. "Just the man," Gareth said. "If you'll have him." Lysander finally looked up, surprised, weighing him. The uniform lay between them like a shed skin. Whatever happened next would have to be chosen, by both of them — and Gareth, for the first time, did not know the answer.