The soft glow of the lanterns filled the small chamber with a golden warmth, flickering against the carved wooden beams and dried bundles of herbs hanging from the ceiling. The air smelled of chamomile and rose, calming after a long day. Isolde sat at her small desk, carefully grinding valerian root into powder, humming softly under her breath.
She didn't hear the door open.
Not until a pair of arms wrapped around her waist from behind and warm lips pressed against the back of her neck.
She smiled instantly. "Tristan."
"I knew I would find you surrounded by potions and crushed leaves," Tristan murmured into her skin. His voice was rough with affection, deeper from a day of being busy and long patrols. "I thought I might have to fight a bundle of thyme for your attention."
Isolde laughed softly, leaning into him. "I'd let you win. Barely."
