Mayra walked along pleasantly, several paces behind the couples she was chaperoning. It was like a parade of sorts down the beach, with pairs of brides and prospective grooms engaging in semi-private conversations to see if the matches were good or ill.
Peter walked alongside her, with Rhone and Klain guards along the edges of the beach in case there should be any discord requiring intervention.
Mainly they were present as a deterrent against any Cetoans pressuring the brides. It gave the women a boost of confidence knowing that if they rejected a man and he didn't take it well, they would be adequately protected from any fallout.
So far, no intervention had been required. It was a blessing, but as more and more couples married, the remainders became a little more desperate.
The women, especially, were slowly giving into the fear that all the 'good' men were probably taken already. Still, any husband was better than none, so they put on brave faces and gave each suitor a chance.
It was almost odd how the men had the opposite reaction. The continuous arrival of new boats of women promised more brides if they didn't find one to suit them in this batch. Some were getting oddly picky.
"I think we finally found a match for Gordon," Mayra smiled, jutting her chin ahead, where the man in question was strolling beside a shy girl of eighteen. She seemed to find what he was saying particularly fascinating.
"He'd better hold onto her and never let go," Peter responded.
Mayra giggled, feeling a little bad about the joke, but happy Gordon was apparently properly matched now.
"It took more work than I thought, but I'm glad he's got someone." She said.
"Me too," Peter said enthusiastically, earning a snort of laughter.
"You'll be glad when every man on the continent is matched up," Mayra accused.
"Who wouldn't?" He challenged. "Don't you want to see everyone happily settled down?"
"Settled down," Mayra shook her head. "What a strange phrase. As if all the adventures and fun stop when one gets married. That makes it sound terrible, doesn't it?"
"Hmm." Peter mused. "I think marriage is a whole new adventure. Look at Finn and Roland. They got married and he became an ambassador, she had triplets…"
"And now they're separated, and he's in an entirely different world, probably, with no guarantee he'll ever return." Mayra finished his sentence with a huff. "How awful is that?"
"They are happy, and I'm sure he will come back safely," Peter said seriously.
"You can't know that for sure," She shot back, then softened. "But thank you for saying it, anyway."
He reached over and took her hand gently in his.
"It's all going to be ok. It has to be. The nations are pulling together, and we defeated the Void once. We can do it again, right?"
"Planning to single-handedly battle an entire pack of wolves again?" Mayra teased.
"Only if you're on standby to patch me up." He paused, pulling her to a stop and letting the couples go a little further out of earshot.
"What is it?" She tilted her head.
"I wanted to see how you're doing. I mean really doing. Since everything. Quilina, and people leaving, and all that."
Mayra looked down at their joined hands for a few seconds, and then up into Peter's face with a mixed expression.
"I'm… stressed. But coping. Still a little jealous that Roland got to go on a great adventure while I'm still here, but that's fading. Having purpose is nice, but I'll be glad when the job is done." She pursed her lips in thought as her eyes drifted to the sea. "How are you?"
She turned back to him expectantly, only to find him distracted, looking at her pursed lips.
He shook his head slightly as he seemed to realize it was his turn to speak.
"Oh, I'm all right." He smiled.
"Come on, Peter," She tugged at his hand slightly and they began walking slowly along the beach once more. "I just opened my soul a little and you're over here with 'I'm all right' as if you have no thoughts deeper than a puddle? I don't believe that. How are you doing, I mean really doing?"
When she echoed his question back at him, he seemed startled.
"You really want to know?"
"Why would I ask if I didn't?" Mayra prodded.
He studied her for a moment, making her oddly nervous. Why was this such a big deal? She'd answered his question honestly, and asked it back to him.
"I'm finding it hard to be patient, but I'm doing my best. I don't mind change, unlike some people, but waiting for it is not always one of my strong points." He replied.
"I find it hard to believe you lack patience," Mayra challenged. He was endlessly patient. He waited for her constantly to complete various tasks, never exuding any form of irritation at delays or changes of plans.
"Because that's what I've wanted you to believe," Peter's brow furrowed.
"I don't understand." Mayra gave him a curious glance.
"This," He lifted their joined hands. "I'm impatient for a decision. I pretend otherwise, with all that's in me, so I don't pressure you–with the exception of the other day–but inside, I want to yell at you to make up your mind to reject me and put me out of my misery."
She blinked at him. She'd asked for honesty, but hadn't expected all of this.
"Am I making you miserable, Peter?" She asked, feeling like a rock was sitting in her stomach.
"No! Yes! It's… all at once. I can feel elated one moment, and crushed the next. I've practiced a stoic, soldierly expression for so long, Mayra, but do you really have no clue what you do to me?"
"Something similar to what you do to me, I expect," She admitted softly, looking at the sand as they walked. "I'm sorry, Peter. How can I stop it?"
"What?" He seemed confused, and they paused their stroll again.
"How can I stop making you miserable?" She asked in earnest.
"Do you really not know?" He searched her eyes, a little bewildered.
A gust of wind tugged some hair across her face, and, distracted, she used her free hand to push it out of the way.
When she looked back up at him, his expression was serious, full of an ache that she wanted badly to ease.
"Please." She insisted. "How can I make it better?"
He sighed, and for a moment she thought she wouldn't get an answer. Then, he dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers.
His kiss was brief, gentle, and sweeter than she imagined it could be.
"There. I'm all better." He teased lightly, though his eyes conveyed worry that his actions would upset her.
"That's all it took to make everything better?" She blinked at him.
Nothing had changed, not really, and yet, in another sense, much had.
She already knew how he felt about her. She'd been fighting how she felt for him. She was afraid it would wreck everything about their friendship if they kissed.
But there had been no earth-shattering moment of uncontrollable passion. No 'point of no return' declaration of undying devotion.
A short, simple, chaste kiss.
And yet… it left her wanting more. Was that bad or good?
"Absolutely." He assured her.
"Couldn't be any better than you are now?" She tilted her head.
He squinted at her as if wondering if the question were a trap. Which was fair. She often set verbal traps for him to fall into.
"I suppose, perhaps," He said, testing the waters, "that one could always be a little better than one is currently."
"That makes sense," She responded hesitantly. "After all, nobody can feel completely perfect, right? There's always room for improvement."
"Always," He agreed, warming to the point she was making. "And we've often been told in training to strive for improvement."
"That seems a noble goal," Mayra pressed her lips together, and Peter moved closer, lowering his head again.
Startled, she took a step back and glanced forward to the couples they were meant to be chaperoning.
"We're in public," She chastised, as if suddenly aware of the fact. "This isn't appropriate."
"You're saying we should go somewhere private and engage in inappropriate behavior?" His eyes sparkled with amusement, clearly delighted to finally turn her words against her.
"THAT'S NOT–" She almost shouted, then lowered her voice and yanked her hand out of his when a few curious faces turned back towards them. "You know what I meant."
Her face burned in embarrassment, made worse by Peter's muffled laughter.
"I don't, not exactly," He admitted as she started walking again, briskly this time, "but I very much look forward to figuring it out."
"You figuring something out? I suppose there's a first time for everything," Mayra couldn't resist the jab.
"Mmmm, and that was a very pleasant 'first time' just now, wasn't it?" Peter's voice lowered so no one else would overhear. She tried to shoot him an annoyed glance, but failed when she saw the way he was looking at her.
"Yes."