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Ten years only made up a small fraction of Lambert’s immortal life. Between fleeing from the Bishops, toppling their reign, and the decade-long process of falling in love with the former god they had worshipped, they were quite used to experiencing massive change over a short time.
What they hadn’t been prepared for, however, was the world that had spun too fast suddenly coming to a standstill.
Constancy was peace, and peace was unsettling. A few weeks into their marriage with Narinder had come and gone with relative calm, a familiar cult-leadership interspersed with moments of quietude they’d never known. Once life settled into a gentle lull, Lambert began to feel their body still half-molded to the shape of the small space they’d confined themself to, and the gravity of the empty space around them.
It had taken every facet of forgiveness to realize how little room they’d allowed themself to take up. They were spreading out into a self they could define, but it was a slow process. Lambert accepted that, mostly. Narinder, ever-patient, would be there to ease them into a godhood they could create, and his presence made the journey bearable.
Sometimes, though, when the stillness became suffocating, they needed a quick fix to breathe in the familiar commotion. So even though they didn’t need to anymore, crusading with Narinder was still one of their favorite excuses to spend time together outside the cult. Resources were in plentiful supply, and neither Lambert nor Narinder found much of a challenge in fighting Old Faith cultists anymore– so for tonight, Darkwood was their witness to their devotion-driven carnage.
Secretly, they thought of it as a date. They hadn’t been able to take Narinder on any official dates yet, before or after the quick turnaround time between the confession and marriage, but they didn’t want to scare him with the term. Romance, after all, was still new territory for them both.
Narinder’s dark fur shone, fresh splatters of blood catching the few flickers of moonlight that passed the treetops. “Allow me,” he had told Lambert only a moment before, and before the heretics in the room could speak their last prayers, he had cleaved his scythe through every fragile head that refused to bow.
“You don’t have to clear the path on your own,” Lambert reassured him for the fifth time that night. They weren’t complaining, though, to see their husband’s claws dripping with the last remnants of their foe’s liquid life.
“I know,” Narinder answered, breathing in the scent of gore-coated foliage and smirking on the exhale. “Nor do you have to ogle me while I do so.”
Lambert felt the heat upon their cheeks, stubbornly refusing to fade even now. Every once in a while, their heart still fluttered like the first time they called their feelings love. “How else am I supposed to take the blood you spill in my name, other than flirtation?”
“With approval.” Narinder knelt beside one of the corpses, raking through its chest with a claw.
Lambert watched the flesh split. They did not ignore that the sight was enough to make them salivate, but they would wait. “I thought you were only missing a lower jaw for your wombat skeleton.”
Narinder plunged his hand between its ribs, examining the organs inside. “I am not looting its jaw. This one has no deformations of interest.”
“Yeesh, what an embarrassment,” Lambert laughed, grinning. “Dying only to have some bone enthusiast deem your corpse boring.”
Narinder began to retrieve the body’s most succulent flesh. “Surely I can offer at least some of its spoils.”
A burning sensation rushed to Lambert’s ears. “For me?” they asked, their smile caught between amusement and charm.
Narinder severed the last aorta and freed the fresh heart from its corpse. “Always.”
“You’re too sweet,” Lambert gushed, accepting the gift with outstretched hands. “Though I’ll have to save this for later if we’re stopping at Rakshasa’s.”
Narinder stood, washing his hands of the blood with a few swipes of his tongue. “I was not aware that was your plan, but we may.”
“I mean, why not? It’s up ahead anyway.” Their smile hadn’t left their face, but the corners of their lips took on a smug curl. “If we’re going on a date, we might as well go all out.”
“Is this a date?”
Oops. “I think so. Well, maybe it is.” Lambert gripped the handle of Narinder’s scythe and gave it a gentle tug towards Rakshasa’s restaurant. “If you want it to be, at least. Then again, I’m perfectly happy turning heretics into a bloody pulp like the good old days with you.”
A second of hesitation. When Lambert started walking, though, Narinder didn’t resist. “I am not confident that I would be able to determine what qualifies as a date.”
“Well, it’s like spending time together one-on-one. Making time to focus on your relationship, I guess.” Lambert didn’t necessarily set out with the goal of stopping for a meal, but they couldn’t deny that their navigation had taken them in the direction of Rakshasa’s. Funny how that worked out.
Narinder furrowed his brows, pondering the opportunity. “I fail to understand what makes that different from any other day.”
True, loving the other was as routine as the breaths they took, but hearing their own devotion echoed out loud still put Lambert’s heart at ease. “Maybe there are some nuances. I don’t know. I can’t say I was well-versed in dating before marrying you. But the special this week is chicken liver pate, so I think it’s worth swinging by.”
Narinder’s tail flicked upright at the mention of his favorite dish. “We have enough time before the sun rises.”
“Then it’s a date. A crusade date.” Lambert lifted their nose to inhale the first hints of simmered herbs. “We’re crusadating.”
Narinder huffed out a short breath of a laugh. “A table for two is not quite a crusade, but very well.”
When Narinder wasn’t looking, Lambert gave a victorious pump of their fist.
Despite it being the dead of night, the atmosphere at Rakshasa’s traveling restaurant was very much alive. About half of the tables were occupied, and a medley of flavors colored the air with as many spices as stars that shone the sky.
A violet-shelled shrimp, somehow even smaller than the chef employing her, greeted the frequent patrons, led them to their table, and scuttled off to let them peruse the menu. The restaurant and its workers, much like Lambert’s own cult, thrived on the comfort of being constantly occupied.
Narinder brought a hand over the candle in the middle of the table and waved his fingers around, choreographing the flame. It flickered on the offbeat, following his index with hypnotic grace. “I need no additional time to decide my order.”
“I figured.” Lambert never deviated from their usual, but since they hadn’t wanted to keep the hostess from rushing away, they took the time to browse drink options.
The couple sat in silence for a moment. Then, with furrowed brows and averted eyes, Narinder spoke as if afraid to breach it. “So. What do couples… talk about on dates?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve never felt like I’ve actually done the whole romance thing before you,” Lambert reminded him, giving a lighthearted shrug. “Whatever we want, I guess.”
“Oh,” Narinder said, folding his ears back for a second. “Perhaps it would be beneficial to give a forewarning before any future ‘dates’ so I have ample time to prepare.”
Lambert wanted to lean over and seal Narinder’s apprehension with a peck to his lips. But they could wait for the privacy he would crave it in, so they instead reached to give his hand a little squeeze. He was so sweet when he didn’t try to calculate his every move, his gaze softening for them in the way only they got to see. “It doesn’t have to feel like an effort. A date can be as serious or as relaxed as you want it to be, I’m pretty sure.”
Narinder hummed beneath his breath, his hands folding on the table with his fingers interlaced.
“You’re getting a drink, right? The Mango Tango looks pretty good.”
Narinder’s mind must have been elsewhere, because he answered their question with another of his own. “What would you think about taking a honeymoon, Lambert?”
Lambert’s heart thudded against their ribcage as they looked up from the menu. He was watching them with wide, fixed eyes, the way he always did when he tried too hard to stay calm.
A date to a honeymoon was quite the leap, but then again, so was an impassioned love confession after an agonizing length of pining to marrying him the next week. They didn’t let the question hang longer than it needed to. They could hear the sincerity in his voice, so they gave him a warm, but muted, smile. “I’d love that, but I don’t know when I would have time. I mean, leaving the cult–”
The chef chose that moment to approach the table, carrying a tray of water glasses and a plate of something Lambert had never seen on the menu. Rakshasa’s small body, only about half the size of a typical follower’s, seemed like it should barely be able to support the load he carried. Nevertheless, he silenced Lambert mid-sentence when he placed a glass of water in front of them.
“Greetings, greetings! I was wondering when you two were going to come.” Rakshasa gave Narinder his glass and set an appetizer between them, two rounds of flatbread topped with a generous helping of dried herbs. “Long overdue. For the occasion you can share oregano bread on the house.”
“Oh, um, thank you!” Lambert took a sip of water and reached for a piece of the flatbread. No matter what time of day they ran into Rakshasa’s, he was always managing the kitchen. Briefly, they wondered when or if he slept. “How’s your wife?”
“Lovely as always, Lamb. How is your cult? Well-fed? Excited for the new couple?”
Lambert almost winced– they definitely didn’t tell Rakshasa about being in love with Narinder, much less the marriage. Again, they wondered why the mutual affection had seemed obvious to everybody except the two of them. “Well-adjusted, I suppose. I’ve sent out a couple of missionaries to scope out the area those two panda siblings say they came from. Sent them with plenty of foraging bags. If they find any new ingredients, I’ll let you know.”
“Ooh, magnificent. If I make something new, you will of course be the first to try it.”
The atmosphere didn’t quite cross into discomfort, but Lambert forced themself to keep their tone chipper enough to carry them through the small talk. They knew how to navigate it so Narinder didn’t have to, but that didn’t make withstanding it feel like less of a chore.
“And this bread has not made it to the menu yet. I’m still tweaking the recipe, so please tell me your thoughts when you finish it.”
They snuck a sideways glance towards Narinder, whom they were almost relieved to see was equally pained by the pleasantries. He nibbled on a half-eaten piece of oregano bread, the tip of his tail flicking with impatience. “Good,” he mumbled, not looking up from his food.
Rakshasa’s face fell a little at the monotone review, but he gave a nod of acknowledgement. “Well, I won’t keep you. What will you two be enjoying today?”
Lambert ordered a Mango Tango mocktail with the dish they always did, a follower meat bowl served medium-rare, and a chicken liver pate for Narinder since he never liked to order for himself. They thanked the endless heavens when Rakshasa hurried back to the kitchen.
It was only when Lambert turned back to Narinder that the furrows on their husband’s forehead smoothed. “So,” he began, “a honeymoon is a date of sorts.”
Lambert pursed their lips and rested their chin against a propped-up fist, recollecting their thoughts. “You’re the one who proposed it. You do know what it is, right?”
“Enough that I am aware it typically consists of a longer excursion that requires advance planning.” Narinder probably wasn’t trying to be cute, so maybe Lambert was still drunk on the newlywed elation that made each twitch of his whiskers and curl of his tail look like deliberate acts to woo them, but they didn’t overlook the slight upturn of his lips as he spoke. “These lands hold more secrets than you know. If you would allow me to uncover them, we could explore them together.”
Lambert reached for the other piece of bread, an involuntary hum sounding beneath their breath when the herbaceous aroma hit their nose. “Well, again, I don’t know when I’d have time to leave for that long. But I can work on making time for it, I’m sure.” Their heart thumped hard against their chest, still unsure how to understand that it beat for someone other than themself now, too. “I have enough disciples that I can be mostly sure they won’t burn down the place in my absence. Um, when were you thinking?”
Narinder was silent for a moment, staring blankly at Lambert as he took a sip of his water. “I had no further plans,” he admitted, blinking all three of his eyes out of sync. “My plan thus far was to assure that you would allow me to take you on a honeymoon.”
Lambert chuckled under their breath, slowing their blinks for Narinder in return. “We don’t have to figure it out right now. But, tell you what, I’m gonna try to leave a few days clear next month. Sound good?”
Narinder took the last bite of his oregano bread and pondered the offer. “A few days will not be enough to cover the places I have in mind.”
The corner of Lambert’s mind registered Narinder slow-blinking back at them. They hid their flushed cheeks behind a sampling of the bread before remembering they didn’t need to keep their infatuation a secret anymore. “What sorts of places?” they asked, their mouth still half-full.
Narinder frowned slightly. “Places I once knew eons ago. Monuments to deities long gone. If I tell you about them now, they won’t be secret.”
When the hostess delivered their mocktail, bright orange and garnished with a purple flower, Lambert offered a quick thanks. They took a sip before the herbed flavor of the bread had faded from their mouth, scrunched up their nose, and cleansed their palate with water before tasting it again. Much better. “Alright, I guess I’ll have to be surprised. But I want to make sure we can fit in some favorites of mine that I’ve never gotten to show you, too.”
Narinder’s brows rose. “Such as?”
“Just a few places. A run-down walking trail on the outskirts of Anura, a forgotten cemetery, that little altar…” Lambert listed, stirring their drink with their straw and taking another fruit-infused sip. “Well, there’s also– I guess that flower field is pretty close to here. We wouldn’t even have to wait to see it if we could go on a little detour tonight.”
“Detour from what? We set out seeking each other, not a destination.”
Lambert laughed in reply– a fond laugh, light and airy, that they still had trouble believing belonged in their mouth. Sometimes they still forgot to remember that they’d stopped having to hide. “At least wait until we’re alone to tempt me.”
“I know what to do to fluster you on purpose.” Narinder took a sip of water, but couldn’t conceal the smirk behind the rim. “That was not even an attempt.”
“You sure, Nari?” Lambert asked, fiddling with the flower decorating their drink. They were only half teasing, but couldn’t meet his eyes without their heart skipping a beat. “…Wonder what type of flower this is.”
“I think it is an orchid.”
“I thought orchids were… well, never mind.” That their ability to distinguish between types of flowers was defunct shouldn’t have surprised Lambert as much as it did, because they hadn’t needed to forage for themself in more than a century. So, only since it had been long enough that they’d forgotten the taste, they plucked it from the rim and ate it whole.
Narinder stifled a laugh, but not the amused smile that followed.
“What?” Lambert asked in between bites. “I don’t want to waste any.”
Narinder’s attention was undivided. A clatter sounded from the kitchen, Rakshasa was approaching with two plates of food that smelled as if they had been sent directly from the heavens, and he still didn’t seem to notice either distraction because his eyes were too fixated on Lambert. “You have not willingly eaten a plant for years, yet you go for the decorative one.”
Lambert swallowed, and the flower’s slight sweetness slipped away faster than they could taste it. They had last eaten orchid an eternity ago, but they didn’t remember it having such a bitter aftertaste. “Orchids are edible,” they challenged, “and I think one will be fine.”
Rakshasa waited for the couple to fall silent. When Lambert gave him a nod of acknowledgement, he slid their meals in front of them with a “bon appetit.” He lingered there for a moment, as if expecting something else besides the thanks Lambert gave him in return, and scuttled off.
Even the air tasted delectable wafting above the hearty meat bowl, and the fork-tender flesh practically melted on Lambert’s tongue. Though they didn’t need to eat, a meal from Rakshasa’s never failed to sate the growing pains of godhood.
Lambert gave a contented hum, their ears relaxing against the side of their head. “How’s yours?”
Narinder left the crudité accompaniment to his chicken liver pate untouched, opting to eat it with a fork instead. He didn’t talk with his mouth full, but the dreamy satisfaction in his eyes spoke for him.
Lambert’s meal was delicious as always, but it wasn’t the reason they had come to Rakshasa’s. “I may or may not have steered us here so you could have your favorite.”
“I figured as much.” Narinder reached his fork across the table to steal the few pieces of bell pepper from Lambert’s meat bowl. “Saving you from a stomachache,” he explained, transferring them onto his plate.
Satisfied silence enveloped the next ten minutes. Rakshasa’s food never failed to fill them quickly, though not so quickly that it sat heavy in their stomachs. Food was best, Lambert decided, when it commanded their full attention and reminded them that conversation could wait for them on the other side of comfort. Enjoying a meal in silence meant safety, now.
Lambert’s senses sharpened around the edges once the seasoned flesh settled into their own. Licking the last drops of broth from their chops, they watched Narinder scoop one more bite of chicken liver pate into his mouth. “So how about it?”
Narinder let his eyes shut for a moment, engrossed in the creamy texture of his remaining pate, and wiped a few breadcrumbs from his robe. “The midnight meal? Perfection.”
“No, heading to the flower field. If we’re going on a honeymoon, we have time to start before morning.”
Narinder’s eyes went wide, and his eyebrows furrowed a second later. “Now?”
“Well, why wait? We don’t have to do everything we want to get to all at once.” Lambert’s hand gravitated to the bell around their neck and closed around it. “You’ve waited long enough for chances like this.”
Narinder hummed, vacillating between his options. “What I had in mind would mean a longer trip, an excursion we would have to plan ahead.”
“And we can do that too.” Lambert set twice as many gold coins as required to pay for their meal in the center of the table. “But when we do go, I’m sure we’ll find some other places that’ll capture our interest that we didn’t plan for. That doesn’t mean we can’t have a plan, but we don’t have to have everything figured out beforehand.”
In the couple centuries that Lambert had known Narinder, and the few years they’d been in love with him, he had always been a planner. Lambert, however, was used to their life– or, rather, their many lives stitched together in a messy patchwork– fraying and retethering as quickly as the wind changed direction. They were fluent in the language of spontaneity, and it was how they loved Narinder, too: the flutter of their heart when the sun shone his fur just so, the clink of his teacup against its saucer when they shared a pot of camellia tea, his tender hesitation when he reached to hold their hand.
But Narinder seemed to be getting better at matching their pace, so he rose to follow them there. “Very well.”
***
It didn’t occur to Lambert how long it had been since they had visited the meadow until the first petal brushed against their fleece. Flowers extended endlessly into the distance, dancing with the soft breeze. It was a scenario that played before them exactly as they had remembered it would: the same prismatic array of colors, unblemished, without a speck of blue where a spot of red should be.
Part of the reason Lambert had brought Narinder here was to prove to themself that it was real– perhaps for the same reason they often found their fingers idling by the bell around their neck or tracing the ring around their finger. The meadow was almost too perfect in its constancy, as if it blinked out of existence the moment they left it behind. Then, when they came to reawaken its memory, it would bloom again.
But Lambert squeezed Narinder’s hand to savor his warmth and knew it was as real as the love that carried them here. And it had waited for them, as it always had.
“There’s a little patch where I like to sit, over where that big tree stump is,” Lambert told Narinder.
Narinder hummed, slipping his arm beside Lambert’s. “Let’s walk together, if you please.”
“Oh.” The request recalled a familiar blush onto their cheeks. Lambert wasn’t sure how long this giddy stage of new love would last, but they were more than content to dwell in it until it settled. “Sure, we can.”
Narinder ran his thumb over the back of Lambert’s palm. Despite the fact that the detour to the flower field hadn’t been his own suggestion, he took a few guarded steps to lead the way, but his hint of hesitation faded after a few minutes. His words took an edge of nostalgia as the couple walked hand-in-hand. “I wonder who maintains this garden now.”
“I don’t think it’s maintained, per se. It’s always been sort of overgrown.” Lambert couldn’t see the moon in this small stretch of open sky, but its gentle light wrapped around their fleece and illuminated the breeze-beckoned dance of the flowers. “Why, did this belong to someone?”
“Yes, and it continues to grow with the selfsame orchestrated chaos as its gardener.” Narinder spoke of him as if he was both close and far away, an absence felt strongest when its remnants surrounded him. “But its maintenance does not require lifting a trowel or watering can. He would simply remove intruders who could prevent nature from running its own course here.”
Lambert didn’t mean to force Narinder to reckon with his regret, but they were already here, walking through a memory that meant something different to them both. “Maybe I should’ve figured that,” they said with a shrug. “Although that makes it kind of funny that I immediately disregarded that for you after I killed Leshy.”
Narinder turned to Lambert and brushed his veil back from his face, its translucent fabric settling in the space between his ears, so they could see his puzzled expression.
“For the flower crown,” Lambert said fondly, smiling a little at their accidental act of defiance. “The first actual gift I ever gave you was that flower crown. Remember when I died one time and I had a bunch of camellias to refill the medical stock or something? The first actual gift I ever gave you was that flower crown I made from them. I picked those here.”
Narinder’s voice went soft. “I do recall.”
“Somehow, it doesn’t feel too long ago.” Lambert’s throat felt dry, the pollen-laden air already tickling their lungs, but they didn’t try to fight it. They could only pluck a few flowers with their free hand, but they accumulated a little bouquet by the time they reached their stump.
Sitting there was a little cozier than Lambert remembered, perhaps due to the gradual softening of the hardwood as it decayed. Wordlessly, they placed the collected flowers in Narinder’s lap.
The night hadn’t quite started to give way to its successor, but the purple prelude to the dawn was beginning to awake. The open meadow carried a freeing sort of peace, a settled stillness, the polar opposite to the learned comfort of the cult’s constant excitement. But it held existence the same way Narinder held Lambert: with an intimacy that felt so natural that their breaths slowed all on their own.
Like Narinder, this place had pieced Lambert back together when they fell apart. It made them reach for his hand to squeeze it a little tighter, but their fingers closed upon empty space.
“Lambert.”
Lambert watched Narinder’s hands, suddenly occupied, fiddle with something. “Yes?”
“I should know how to make this.” Narinder scooted back a little, leaving enough room for Lambert to see a rumpled chain of flowers in his lap. “You’ve shown me already, though these stems fail to retain their shape.”
Lambert’s smile was imperceptibly small, but they felt the gentle curve of their lips as they felt Narinder’s tail curl against their back. “I wouldn’t use the little clustered ones. You need a bit thicker stem to hold the next flower.”
Narinder held up a vibrant bloom, this one much sturdier.
“Well, it has to be flexible enough to bend without snapping.” Lambert leaned over to pluck a few stalks of wayward lavender and handed them to him. “This one will tie well,” they said, grabbing a few for themself to demonstrate. “Here, wrap the stem of one around the other like this.”
A few focused minutes passed as Narinder copied Lambert’s motions, and slowly, he started to find a rhythm. Lavender was far from abundant in Darkwood, but when he linked his first few stems, he could simply grab another stalk within arm’s reach. “This crown is long overdue,” he mused.
Lambert rested their head on Narinder’s shoulder, briefly silent, until a question escaped them. “Do you think we did this too quickly?”
Narinder’s ear twitched against Lambert’s wool. “Hm?”
“…Getting married.”
“No. Never.” Lambert half-expected Narinder to be taken aback, since their own lungs suddenly struggled to find the air around them, but his presence felt suddenly safer. “For so long I have waited to keep you. I am as sure of my decision to marry you as of the sun’s decision to rise.”
The ease of his response made Lambert want to fall to their knees. “Well, I… it’s not that I’ve ever doubted loving you.” They wanted to apologize for even voicing such a fear, but somehow that felt like the wrong move. “What I mean is more like– I don’t know, I don’t think I’m very good at this yet.”
Narinder closed his eyes, extending his patience to Lambert, and waited for them to fill the silence. Love was a living thing inside his chest, fate a promise wrapped around both their fingers, and Lambert felt the gentle tug of both.
“Maybe I need more time to settle into the whole being married thing,” Lambert said, suddenly laughing a little at how ridiculous they knew they sounded. “More time to get better at, well, loving.”
Narinder turned to kiss their temple. “We have endless time.”
Lambert gave a sigh, lighter on their lips when Narinder softened the tension in their brow. After years of holding reciprocated heartache, they still had to remind themself sometimes that he did, in fact, love them back. He never hesitated to make sure they remembered, either. “I know.”
“I am as inexperienced as you are with this anyway,” Narinder pointed out, weaving another stem around his lavender crown.
“Yeah, but you’re just… so sweet to me all the time,” Lambert said. They looked down at their own flower crown in their hands, already a little saturated with the sweat of their palms. Darn it, they were supposed to be showing him how to finish it, and he’d already gotten ahead. “You’re affectionate and when I asked a dumb question you gave me such a beautiful answer, and I don’t, like, speak in poetry but it just feels like you get everything right.”
For the second time that night, Narinder laughed out loud. “Need I remind you how many mistakes it took to coax the choice to love again out of me?”
Lambert grinned at that, but uncertainty took over their features again quickly. “I’m probably worrying about nothing. Like, I’m literally anxious that you love me too much.” They pressed themself further into Narinder’s neck, pressing their ear against his vein to listen to his pulse. “You love me too much and I’m afraid that I won’t keep up.”
“I can’t love you too much.”
A part of Lambert had the instinct to protest, but they quelled it. They were getting better at that, at least. “You know, this is literally what I’m talking about. You didn’t even have to take time to think about that answer, it just came out naturally.”
“...Well.” Narinder held his flower crown at eye level, inspecting its length. “Loving you is easy. Letting you love me back was the difficult part.”
Given that Lambert had heard so many sweet words from Narinder after their marriage, perhaps they should’ve gotten used to handling them already. But, just like the first time, their cheeks burned a fervent black.
“But you feel… safe, now.” Narinder twisted the end of the stems into a braid. “More than I hoped could be possible.”
Lambert sighed again, but this time, they exhaled more than the weight of their breath. They believed him– it was the only choice they had. “Okay.”
Tucking the stems back into the lavender chain, Narinder traced his finger along its circumference. “You have nothing to make up for,” he promised, and slipped it over Lambert’s horns to crown his spouse.
Lambert’s flower crown was still a few plants short of finished, but they would take their time. They could feel the one Narinder made for them coming a little loose at the back already, but they wouldn’t say anything.
“I love you, Lambert.”
Narinder spoke so delicately, so wholly that he reaffirmed why Lambert would never tire of hearing it. “I love you too.”
The exchange was so new to them both that the silence that followed hung in the air. For a moment, it was quiet enough that Lambert could hear their fingers weaving through the last few stems as they finished their own flower crown.
Narinder spoke first. “Does a ‘date’ typically conclude with a kiss?”
Lambert couldn’t help but grin at how quickly Narinder’s flirtatious confidence devolved into awkward uncertainty. “It can.”
Narinder lowered his head to receive Lambert’s flower crown and their kiss. Lip to lip, they tasted the prayers made in each other’s names.
Neither of them needed much experience with dates, they decided, for their first to be a gift. And when the first light of dawn broke, the wedded couple had many more planned.