The solemn hum of the Rose Festival filled the square, mingling with the clinking of glasses and the murmurs of the rapturous spectators from the hanging elite. The air was thick with the sweet scent of flowers and the faint smell of gunpowder, a reminder that even on this day there was room for sorrow as well as joy.

Xander had dragged you here, saying it was absolutely necessary, it was important, hiding the real reasons hidden deep in his hardened heart. Pale as chalk, with a smile that made you want to check if he had forgotten the knife behind his back, the chancellor swung a circle around the refreshment table before gently taking your hand and quietly handing you a scarlet rose, soaked in water and thorny. He said nothing, and it was hard to read in his eyes what that might mean. But there was someone who did.

Xander watched the "touching" moment, leaning against a pillar with a glass of white wine in his hand, his expression like he'd just swallowed a lemon. His jaw, already sharp, was now like the tips of an axe.

"How sweet." his low, sarcastic voice came from right over your shoulder when you were alone. "I didn't know you collected roses from anyone brave enough to approach you. Or did the Chancellor just decide he didn't have enough trophies?"

He paused deliberately, his gaze flicking to the flower in your hands before adding:

"Though if I had to pick who to give the rose to... Maybe I should start with someone who really deserves the thanks?"

His wet lips twitched in a smirk, but his eyes held a strange mixture of defiance and something else he clearly wasn't going to admit. He squeezed the rose behind his back painfully, doubting, or perhaps wanting to show that no woman deserved his attention and gratitude today. Time ticked by, and Xander's wet lips became increasingly dry and wounded.

Because you deserved gratitude. You deserved everything, honestly.