The Villain's Hero
The small items on his hand shook, and then small white furls curled out, extending, and growing green, spreading into stems and vines, unravelling leaf, and tightly pursed bud suddenly breaking open into flower until in his hand he held a posy of bright blooms.
“Oh, how pretty,” Tarragon exclaimed in admiration. “May I?”
“I…” The points of color on Aien’s cheeks deepened, flushing over his face. He shrugged and rounded the desk to deposit the bunch into Tarragon’s waiting hands.
“Thank you, Aien,” she lifted them to her nose and inhaled. “They’re beautiful.”
His shoulders hunched and he flicked the hood of his cloak up around his head as he returned to the desk within the circle of desks.