Chapter 147 Watching Them Love You
Damien
He looks like he might bolt the second I get too close. Every time someone shifts, he gets nudged back another step, shoulders curling inward, eyes flicking between Bella and the ground. He keeps trying, though. He keeps edging forward, then losing the space again. I step into the flow carefully, moving with the gaps as they open. A few villagers glance my way and shift aside without thinking. I keep my hands loose at my sides so I don’t look like I’m coming to pull rank. When I reach him, I lower myself slightly so my height doesn’t swallow him whole.
“You’ve been waiting,” I say.
His throat bobs, and he nods once, quickly.
“What do you have there?”
He hesitates, then lifts a small bundle of dried mountain flowers tied with twine. The petals are curled from the cold on his fingers, stiff and pale, but they still smell faintly sweet.
“For her,” he mutters.
I glance toward the centre, where Bella is the heart of it. The boy shifts again as someone jostles past him, and his flowers wobble in his grip. I look down at him.
“Let's go give them to her,” I say.
His eyes widen, panicked.
“I can’t,” he whispers, and he isn’t lying. He’s been pushed to the edge so many times he’s stopped believing he can get back in. So I extend my hand.
“Come with me,” I tell him.
He stares at my palm like it’s a trap. Then he glances down at the flowers and swallows hard. He places his cold hand in mine while still gripping the twine with the other. He flinches when we take the first step into the crowd, and I slow immediately.
“You’re alright,” I say, low. “Stay close.”
We move forward together, and people notice him before they notice me. A woman steps back with a smile. A man shifts aside, letting the moment pass through. The crowd parts gently, like they understand what this is without anyone explaining it. The boy keeps his eyes down, breathing quick, shoulders tight, but his hand stays in mine. I guide him a little at a time until Bella comes into view properly. She’s flushed with cold and happiness, and when she sees us, her laugh eases into something quieter. Her gaze drops to the boy beside me, and her face softens.
“Hi,” she says gently, like she has all the time in the world. “What have you got there?”
The boy freezes, and his grip tightens on my hand.
I crouch slightly beside him, so he isn’t the only small thing in a sea of adults.
“You wanted to give those to her,” I remind him.
He nods, then takes a half step forward and lifts the flowers toward her with both hands.
“They’re for you,” he says, voice thin but steady enough.
Bella’s hands come up immediately, palms open, careful as she takes the bundle. She looks at them like they’re rare.
“These are beautiful,” she says.
The boy blinks fast.
“I picked them.”
“I’m honoured,” Bella answers, and she means it. “Thank you.”
She lifts them to her face and inhales, eyes closing briefly.
“They smell like the mountain,” she says, then looks back at him. “You’ve made my day.”
Ashlyn makes a noise beside her that is dangerously close to a sob.
Red, without looking up, mutters, “Someone put ‘flowers’ on the list,” and scratches something down.
The boy nods sharply like he can’t risk speaking again, then steps back toward me.
“You're a good man,” I tell him.
He glances up at me once, then at Bella, then turns and sprints away, disappearing into the crowd like courage has a time limit.
The space he leaves fills immediately as another child steps in. Then another. They bring small things, earnest things. A flat stone polished smooth. A tiny tin bell that chimes when I move. A strip of cloth with uneven stitches. A folded drawing with a dragon that looks more like a lopsided dog, but the intent is clear. I take each one carefully, nodding, thanking them in the same steady tone until their shoulders loosen and they run off with their pride tucked under their coats. Adults begin to join in, carried forward by the children’s boldness.
A man approaches, a bottle sealed in wax in hand. “Old berry wine,” he says. “For the toast.”
I accept it with a nod and a smile. Someone slips a ribboned box into my hands before I can refuse it. Another offers a carved comb wrapped in paper. A man tries to push coins forward, and Red’s head snaps up sharply.
“Keep it,” she says, voice cutting clean through the noise. “We don’t need money. We need hands.”
The man flushes and backs away, and Red is already writing again, charcoal smudging her fingers black.
Bella catches sight of me juggling gifts and calls over the crowd, “What are you doing?”
“I’m collecting tributes,” I answer.
Laughter breaks loose again. Bella lifts her brows, amused, and calls, “Get the cake first.”
Gilfred chirps loudly from his fence post, entirely on board with that plan.
Paul appears at my shoulder without needing to be called, his expression caught between amusement and duty.
“You’re going to need more arms,” he murmurs.
“I’ve noticed,” I reply.
Drayke steps in behind him, already reaching for the heaviest items, and I begin passing things off carefully.
Eventually, things begin to slow down. People peel away toward their homes, calling over their shoulders, promising to return with tools, with supplies, with whatever they can spare. Bella ends up near the edge at last, half hidden beside a timber post and a stack of firewood, scarf pulled up as she catches her breath. Her eyes find mine across the thinning crowd. There’s something in her look that says she has been brave for everyone, and now she wants a moment that belongs to us. I go to her, and she lifts her left hand between us, the ring catching the light.
“I can’t believe they’re doing this,” she says, low.
“They've wanted this for a long time,” I reply.
Bella exhales slowly. Her shoulders drop a fraction.
“I said yes and the whole mountain threw a party,” she murmurs. “That seems like a lot.”
“It seems accurate,” I say.
Her mouth twitches. “You’re still holding things.”
I glance down at my hands, then back to her. Bella’s smile softens.
“I’m going to end up owning half the village by the time Red is done,” she says.
“Red already owns the village,” I answer. “She’s just filing it.”
Bella lets out a quiet laugh, then steps close enough that her coat brushes mine. Her gloved fingers slide under my arm and hold there, small and steady.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“I’m watching them love you,” I say. “I’m more than okay.”
“Come here,” she says.
I lean down as she rises on her toes and kisses me. When she pulls back, her hand stays on my chest, fingers pressing like she’s marking the beat of my heart.