Alexander had not expected to see that.
He had come to the valley reluctantly, holding the bouquet of roses that now looked strangely out of place against the dusty road and the working fields behind him. The flowers had been carefully chosen earlier that morning, though even he had felt slightly ridiculous carrying them across the fortress like a young man making his first awkward apology. Still, he had convinced himself that the gesture might soften Laurel's anger from the dinner a few nights ago, because no matter how stubborn she could be, she had always been someone who appreciated sincerity.
But what he saw now made that thought feel foolish.
