I Married the 'Mad' Heir

Ch 22: The South Meadow

They didn’t take the main paths. Abel led them on a winding route behind the gardens, through a small copse of birch trees, and along a sun-dappled track used by farm carts. He walked with purpose now, his earlier nervousness replaced by a quiet, focused confidence. Orion matched his pace, the basket swinging lightly in his free hand. The silence between them was comfortable, filled only with the sounds of birdsong and their footsteps on the dry earth.

”This way,” Abel said, pointing to a gap in an old, mossy stone wall. ”It’s shorter.”

He went first, ducking his tall frame through the opening, then turned and offered his hand back to Orion to help him over the uneven ground. Orion took it, feeling the familiar warmth and strength of Abel’s grip as he stepped through.

Beyond the wall, the world opened up.

The south meadow was a broad, gentle slope of grass that rolled down to a lazy, willow-lined stream. It was indeed sunny, drenched in the soft gold of late afternoon. Wildflowers dotted the green—tiny blue speedwell, white clover, buttercups. At the bottom, near the water, a cluster of willows offered a perfect patch of dappled shade.

”Oh,” Orion breathed, stopping for a moment. It was beautiful. Simple, untamed, and utterly peaceful.

”Told you,” Abel said, his voice full of pride. He watched Orion’s face intently, searching for approval. ”Willem said it was aesthetically pleasing. He’s usually right about things like that.”

”He is,” Orion agreed softly. He looked at Abel. ”It’s perfect.”

Abel’s smile returned, wider this time, less anxious. ”The spot is down by the water. Under the biggest tree. It has the best view.”

He led the way down the slope, his steps careful on the uneven ground. As they neared the stream, the air grew cooler and carried the clean, mineral scent of moving water. The ’biggest tree’ was an ancient willow, its long branches sweeping down to brush the grass like a green curtain. Beneath it, the ground was soft and dry, carpeted with moss and last year’s leaves.

Abel stopped, surveying the area with a critical eye. He pointed to a flat, sunny patch just outside the willow’s shade. ”We should sit there. So you’re warm.”

Orion nodded, letting Abel make the decisions. It felt important to let him lead this.

Abel took the basket from Orion’s hands and set it down carefully. Then, to Orion’s surprise, he shrugged out of his own linen jacket. He spread it out on the grass, smoothing the wrinkles with his big palms, creating a makeshift picnic blanket.

”So your clothes don’t get dirty,” he explained, looking up at Orion.

The gesture was so unthinkingly chivalrous, so practical and kind, that Orion felt another piece of his guarded heart soften. ”Thank you.”

Abel patted the space on the jacket beside him. ”Sit.”

Orion sat, arranging his grey robes around him. Abel lowered himself down next to him, not too close, but near enough that their shoulders almost touched. He opened the basket with a sort of reverent care, pulling out the contents one by one and laying them between them.

The two seeded rolls, still faintly warm. The wedge of creamy white cheese. Two shiny red apples. And finally, Lissy’s little bouquet, which he presented to Orion with a slightly formal air.

”For you.”

Orion took the flowers. The stems were a bit crushed, the twine knot messy. They were the most beautiful flowers he’d ever been given. ”They’re lovely, Abel. Thank you.”

Abel beamed, his mission succeeding step by step. He picked up a roll and broke it in half, handing the larger piece to Orion. ”Old Grumpy makes the best bread. Toben got it when he wasn’t looking.”

Orion accepted the bread, a laugh escaping him. ”You have a very efficient team.”

”They’re good knights,” Abel said seriously, taking a bite of his own half. He chewed, looking out over the meadow, then at the stream. His expression grew thoughtful. ”I used to come here. Before.”

Orion paused, his bread halfway to his mouth. ”Before the accident?”

Abel nodded slowly. ”Yes. I think... I think I liked it. It was quiet. No one... expected anything here.” He frowned, trying to grasp the ghost of the memory. ”I can’t remember what I did. Just that I was here.”

”It’s a good place to be,” Orion said gently.

”It’s a better place to be with you,” Abel replied, the words simple and direct, without a trace of guile. He tore off a piece of cheese and handed it to Orion. ”Try this with the bread. Millie said it’s the right way.”

Orion took the cheese, layering it on the bread. He took a bite. The bread was crusty and hearty, the cheese mild and rich. It was, objectively, delicious. But more than that, it tasted like freedom. Like a secret shared.

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, listening to the buzz of insects, the gurgle of the stream, the distant call of a hawk. The immense, oppressive weight of Valerian Manor seemed to dissolve in the clear air.

Abel finished his bread and cheese, then picked up an apple. He polished it vigorously on his sleeve before offering it to Orion.

Orion shook his head. ”That one’s yours.”

Abel looked at the two apples, then back at Orion. A slow, mischievous grin spread across his face. He pulled a small, worn pocket knife from his trousers. With surprising dexterity, he sliced the apple neatly in half, core and all, then into quarters.

”Now we share,” he declared, handing two quarters to Orion.

Orion took them, charmed by the logic. They ate the sweet, crisp apple, juice cooling their throats.

When the food was gone, Abel packed the remnants back into the basket with the same care he’d unpacked it. He leaned back on his elbows, stretching his long legs out in front of him, his eyes closed as he turned his face to the sun. He looked completely at ease, more relaxed than Orion had ever seen him indoors.

Orion watched him. The golden light caught the dust motes in the air around them and gilded the lines of Abel’s profile—the strong jaw, the straight nose, the surprisingly long lashes against his cheek. In this moment, he wasn’t the ”mad” heir or the broken son. He was just a man, content in the sunshine.

After a while, Abel opened his eyes and turned his head toward Orion. ”Is it working?”

”Is what working?” Orion asked, though he knew.

”The date.” Abel propped himself up on one elbow, his expression earnest again. ”Are you... less sad?”

Orion considered the question. He looked at the willow leaves trailing in the water, at the flowers in his lap, at the simple basket. He felt the sun on his skin, the solid, peaceful presence of the man beside him.

”Yes,” he said, and found it was profoundly true. The humiliating ache of the reception, the lingering fear, it was all still there, but it had been pushed back, muted by the sheer normality of this afternoon. ”I am much less sad.”

Abel’s whole body seemed to sigh with relief. He flopped onto his back in the grass, staring up at the green canopy of the willow. ”Good. That’s what I wanted.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Orion lay back beside him, their shoulders brushing now, both looking up at the patterns of light and leaf.

”Orion?” Abel’s voice was soft, tentative.

”Hmm?”

”What makes you happy? Really happy. Not just ’less sad.’”

The question was so unexpected, so piercing in its simplicity, that Orion had to think. What did make him happy? Before this marriage, his happiness had been a series of small, stolen things: a book finished without interruption, a task completed well, a rare word of praise from a tutor. It had never been a feeling he associated with other people.

”I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. ”I haven’t thought about it in a long time.”

Abel turned his head to look at him. Their faces were close. ”You should think about it. You deserve happy things.”

The conviction in his voice was absolute. Orion felt a lump rise in his throat. He swallowed it down. ”What makes you happy, Abel?”

Abel didn’t hesitate. ”Angel. Cookies. Sunny days. My wooden horse.” He paused, his gaze steady on Orion’s face. ”You.”

The single word hung between them, honest and unadorned.

Orion’s breath caught. He looked into Abel’s golden eyes, seeing no calculation, no hidden agenda, just a pure, startling truth.

Before he could think of a response, Abel’s expression shifted. A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. He glanced away, back up at the leaves. ”Millie said... if the date goes good... there’s supposed to be a kiss.”

He said it like he was reporting a fact of nature, but a faint pink tinge colored the tips of his ears.

Ah. So that was the final objective. The grand strategy devised by the council of eight-year-olds. Orion’s heart gave a funny, fluttering beat.

He pushed himself up on one elbow, mirroring Abel’s position. Abel watched him, his eyes wide, waiting.

Orion reached out slowly. He didn’t go for Abel’s mouth. Instead, his fingers brushed a stray leaf fragment from Abel’s tousled blond hair. The gesture was tender, intimate.

Abel held perfectly still, his breath hitching.

”Is the date going good?” Orion asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Abel nodded, a quick, jerky movement. ”It’s the best date,” he whispered back.

Orion leaned in. He pressed a soft, closed-mouth kiss to Abel’s cheek, just beside the corner of his mouth. It was chaste, brief, a bare whisper of contact.

He pulled back.

Abel’s eyes were huge. He lifted a hand and touched the spot where Orion’s lips had been, as if checking to see if it was real. A slow, dazed, utterly radiant smile dawned on his face, brighter than the meadow sun.

”Oh,” he breathed.

Orion smiled, feeling a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the afternoon light. ”Was that alright?”

Abel nodded, still touching his cheek. ”More than alright.” He hesitated, then his smile turned a little shy. ”Can... can I try?”

Orion’s pulse jumped. He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.

Abel moved slowly, carefully, as if approaching a skittish animal. He leaned in. His lips were surprisingly soft. He kissed Orion’s cheek in return, a mirror image of Orion’s kiss—gentle, unsure, achingly sweet.

When he pulled back, they were both blushing, lying side-by-side in the grass like two teenagers who had just discovered a wonderful, terrifying secret.

Abel let out a long, shaky breath, then grinned, a boyish, triumphant grin. ”We did it.”

Orion laughed, the sound light and free. ”Yes. We did.”

They lay there for a long time, not talking, just being together in the quiet meadow as the sun began its slow descent towards the treetops, painting the sky in shades of peach and lavender. The basket sat between them, empty now except for hope and the faint, sweet smell of apples.