To the end of the world.

[ A little wry. A little—not regretful, but something like it, because that’s it for him too. He’s not ready to say so, and maybe he’ll never say it plainly, because the last thing he wants, if that dream had any real prophecy to it and he does go off and get himself stupidly shot in the throat with an arrow sometime, is for Byerly to have anything to use as evidence that it was his fault.

But he thinks it. That as long as By will have him, he’s not going anywhere without him. That Alexandrie, in their private dream, was right.

He turns his head to nudge his mouth against Byerly’s wrist, not quite a kiss, and brightens. ]

Well. I will love you just the same if you grow a beard or if you don’t, but if you do, you have to promise to do it while I can watch it happen. No surprising me with it. And if you want to be a leader or don’t want to be a leader—that’s all fine. Practically chaste... you would have to allow me a mourning period, but we would be alright.

But if you ever start wearing such dull colors, we will have to have a conversation. I don’t care if you are living in a swamp. That’s no excuse.