Viktoria. POV
Cephas lets me down from the truck gently this time. His hands are careful, almost reverently, as he helps me off the truck. Earlier, those same hands held a stick, he barked with rage.
Now he nearly carries me, his broad body shielding mine from the jostling crowd. When my feet touch the ground, he doesn’t immediately let go, as if afraid I might hurt if he does.
New respect for me shines in his eyes.
“What can I do,” he asks gruffly, clearing his throat, “to show how thankful I am?”
I look up at him, exhausted to my bones, my body aching in places I didn’t know could ache.
“You don’t need to do much,” I say with a tired smile. “Just be kind.”
He frowns slightly. Kindness is a foreign language to him. I can tell.
“Be kind to the servants and workers at the farm,”
