The road stretches ahead, dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. You walk between Gale and Halsin, their presence beside you both grounding and exciting in ways you’re still learning to navigate. The tension of the political mission is still there, the weight of responsibility pressing lightly on your shoulders, but for now, it feels manageable.

Gale falls into step beside you, hand brushing yours occasionally, teasing with soft touches that make your pulse quicken. “You know,” he says, voice low and playful, “you could take a little break from carrying the world. It suits you to smile more.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “You think I don’t smile enough?”

“I think you smile like the world might crumble if you show it too often,” he murmurs. His lips twitch into a grin, but the warmth behind his eyes makes your heart flutter.

Halsin chuckles softly from the other side, shaking his head. “He’s exaggerating, as usual. You do more than most could ever manage, Y/N. But even the strongest of us need moments like this — quiet, uneventful, just… traveling with companions who care for you.”

You swallow hard, glancing between the two of them. The words, the care, the quiet attention — it all reminds you how much you are loved. And yet, you feel the pull of desire for both men, the tangled, complicated heartstrings that neither distance nor daylight can unravel.

As the sun warms your back, you lean slightly into Halsin, feeling the steady warmth of his arm brushing yours. Gale notices, of course, and the slight edge in his tone makes you grin despite yourself. “Careful, you’re showing favoritism,” he teases, voice low but tinged with something sharper — jealousy? longing?

Halsin’s hand brushes yours subtly, a silent counterclaim, his gaze calm but intent. “I think it’s just comfort,” he says lightly, though you catch the spark of something more in his expression.

You laugh softly, a rare, genuine sound that makes both of them pause and look at you. “I… I think it’s all three of us,” you admit, voice soft, a little shaky. “And maybe it doesn’t have to be simple. Maybe it’s okay to just… be here, together, for now.”

They both fall silent for a moment, and the quiet stretches like a ribbon around you, warm and protective. 

—--

The city gates rise before you, gold and stone catching the first light of morning. Ancient wards hum faintly beneath the archways, a reminder that this city has survived as much through magic as through blood and compromise. The streets beyond are already alive — merchants calling out wares, envoys in fine cloaks moving with practiced urgency, whispers of politics threaded through every conversation.

You walk between Gale and Halsin, one on either side, their presence both grounding and distracting in equal measure.

“This place feels alive,” you murmur, eyes lifting to the tall banners fluttering above the council hall — sigils of unity layered over scars of old division.

Gale hums thoughtfully, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just long enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Alive and tense,” he says, a teasing smile curving his lips. “Perfect conditions for negotiations… or for chaos. Usually both.”

Halsin steps closer on your other side, his voice lower, steadier. “And precisely why we must remain focused,” he says. “The Circle delegates did not travel this far for ceremony. They want assurance — that the treaty will protect the wilds, not cage them.” His hand brushes yours briefly, grounding. Deliberate. “This is why we’re here.”

You nod, inhaling slowly. This meeting is more than diplomacy. It is an attempt to stop a fracture before it becomes a war — between the city and the dissenting druid factions who see your marriage, your alliances, as a consolidation of power rather than balance. If today fails, borders will close. Trade will suffer. And the threats circling your rule will grow bolder.

The council chamber looms ahead, massive doors etched with scenes of past accords — hands clasped in stone, broken swords reforged, roots entwining crowns. As you enter, the murmured conversations soften, then still.

Eyes track you as you move forward.

You feel their scrutiny immediately — curiosity, calculation, skepticism. You square your shoulders, reminding yourself that you are not just here as a figurehead, but as the one who demanded these talks happen at all.

Gale falls half a step behind you, close enough that his presence brushes your back. “Just remember,” he murmurs, voice meant only for you, “they’re probing for weakness. Speak plainly “..and I’ve got your back, no matter what they throw at you.”

“And I,” Halsin adds quietly from your other side, “will ensure no one mistakes diplomacy for submission.”

The negotiations begin carefully.

Concerns are raised about territorial boundaries, about forest stewardship, about whether the city’s influence will continue to expand unchecked beneath the guise of cooperation. Words are chosen with care, but the tension beneath them is unmistakable.

You answer calmly. You speak of shared responsibility, of mutual protection, of revised charters and enforced conservation. You outline safeguards you fought to include — protections that cost you political capital, but preserved the heart of the agreement.

Still, a delegate leans forward, gaze sharp. “And what guarantee do we have,” he asks coolly, “that this union does not bind the Circle to a crown that has never answered to the land?”

Before the silence can stretch, Gale steps forward — subtle, controlled.

“With respect,” he says smoothly, arcane sigils faintly shimmering at his cuffs, “the city has already committed to neutral oversight. Magical and political.” His eyes flick briefly to you. “At her insistence.”

A murmur ripples through the chamber.

Halsin follows, unhurried but resolute. “I stand here,” he says, voice deep and even, “not as a symbol of conquest, but of consent. This treaty preserves balance. Rejecting it would fracture the land far more surely than signing it.”

Together, they flank you — one sharp as spellfire, the other immovable as earth — and you feel it then, acutely. Not just their protection, but their faith.

During a brief pause between sessions, Gale leans close again. “You’re incredible at this,” he murmurs. “But don’t forget to breathe.”

You swallow, nodding faintly, glancing at Halsin as his hand brushes your arm in quiet agreement. “I know,” you whisper. “I just… need to hold it together a little longer.”

The day stretches on. Compromises are struck. Boundaries redrawn with words instead of weapons. And all the while, you notice the looks — fleeting, charged glances between Gale and Halsin, tension only you seem attuned to. A flicker of jealousy. A shared protectiveness. A careful restraint neither voices aloud.

When the final terms are agreed upon and the council adjourns, the weight lifts all at once.

Outside, the evening air is cool against your skin. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Gale’s arm slips around your waist instinctively, drawing you close. “You did well,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “Every word, every gesture — flawless.”

Halsin presses a hand to your back, thumb tracing slow, grounding circles. “And you were steady,” he adds softly. “No one else could have carried this.”

Your chest tightens. You look between them, feeling the pull of both — fire and earth, brilliance and constancy. “I… I don’t know what I’d do without either of you,” you whisper.

—-

The tension doesn’t break when the council adjourns.

It only changes shape.

The corridors beyond the chamber are quieter than they should be, footsteps echoing too loudly against stone. You feel it before anyone says a word — the way the air tightens, the way Gale’s posture shifts, alert without appearing so.

Halsin notices it too. You see it in the way his gaze sweeps the hall, in the subtle way he positions himself just a fraction closer to you.

A guard approaches, breath quick, armor slightly askew. “My Lady,” he says, voice low. “There’s been… movement. Along the eastern greenway. Our scouts report unfamiliar sigils carved near the wards. Druidic, but not of the Circle.”

Your stomach twists.

“So the dissenters weren’t all in that chamber,” Gale murmurs, fingers flexing at his side, magic humming faintly beneath his skin.

Halsin exhales slowly. “They never are.”

The guard continues, “No breach yet. But the markings are a warning.”

A warning. Not an attack — not yet. Something meant to be seen. Something meant to unsettle.

You nod, steadying yourself. “Increase patrols. Quietly. I don’t want panic.” You hesitate, then add, “And double the wards near the outer groves.”

The guard bows and retreats, leaving the three of you standing in the dim corridor, the weight of unfinished danger settling over your shoulders.

Gale looks at you then — really looks — concern cutting through the lingering adrenaline. “You held the line in there,” he says quietly. “But you shouldn’t have to hold it alone.”

You manage a small smile. “I don’t. Not today.”

Halsin places a hand at the small of your back, guiding you gently away from the public halls, down a side passage toward quieter quarters reserved for envoys. “Come,” he says softly. “You need rest. Both of you do.”

The room you retreat to is simple but warm — lamplight casting soft gold against stone, the distant hum of wards steady and reassuring. For the first time since dawn, the noise fades.

You sink onto the edge of the table, suddenly exhausted.

Gale pours a glass of water and presses it into your hands without comment. Halsin loosens his cloak, setting it aside, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough to be human again.

For a moment, none of you speak.

Then you exhale, long and shaky. “They’re not done,” you say quietly. “I could feel it. The treaty helped… but it didn’t erase the resentment.”

“No,” Halsin agrees. “Peace is rarely loud. The ones who reject it often are.”

Gale steps closer, crouching slightly so he’s at eye level with you. “But they didn’t shake you,” he says. “Even when they tried.”

You swallow. “I was terrified.”

He smiles softly. “Bravery usually is.”

Silence settles again — not uncomfortable, but heavy with everything unsaid. You become acutely aware of how close they are. Gale’s knee brushing yours. Halsin’s presence warm and steady at your side.

“I keep thinking,” you admit, voice quiet, “that if I falter, i-if I make the wrong choice everything will just.. collapse.”

Halsin’s hand comes to rest over yours, firm and reassuring. “You are allowed to be human,” he says gently. “Even leaders are.”

“And,” Gale adds, fingers lightly touching your wrist, grounding, “you don’t have to choose tonight.”

That catches your breath.

You look between them — the mage whose fire has always seen straight through you, and the druid whose steadiness has given you space to breathe. The danger outside the walls feels closer suddenly, sharper — but here, in this room, you are held between two forms of safety.

You lean back slightly, allowing yourself to rest against them both, just for a moment.

Halsin’s arm comes around you without hesitation. Gale’s hand settles at your waist, warm and familiar.

Outside, the city watches the dark carefully.

Inside, the three of you sit in quiet, knowing that whatever comes next; you will face it together.

FIN

The damp night air presses against your skin as you stumble through the trees, tears streaking your face. Your hands shake, fingers brushing branches as you try to steady your breathing. The weight of the confrontation, of truth laid bare, still sits heavy in your chest, but now there is something more — a whisper at the edge of your senses.

Something is watching.

Your heart hammers in your chest. You freeze, straining to see in the moonlight, the glow of rogue magic flickering faintly among the underbrush. Panic twists into instinct. You whisper an incantation, drawing a protective ward, but it feels weak, unformed — your mind too scattered, your emotions too raw.

A shadow detaches from the trees, moving with deliberate, predatory precision. You recognize it immediately: agents of the faction opposing the alliance, emboldened by the forest and your vulnerability. You do nothing but back away, trying to put space between yourself and the danger, but the undergrowth is treacherous. A figure lunges, and instinctively, you cast a pulse of magic, knocking it back — but several more move in from the darkness. Your heart races.

Suddenly, a voice calls out from the treeline. “Y/N!” Gale’s voice, sharp and commanding, slices through the night. You feel a surge of relief, but danger presses closer. Halsin appears next, steady and composed, aura shimmering with protective wards. “Move toward me,” he instructs. “I’ll hold them.”

You dart between them, warding and casting as the shadows strike. The air is thick with tension and magic, the forest echoing with sparks of light and the clash of energy. You feel Gale’s presence brush against you, protective, precise, every motion calculated. Halsin stands firm beside you, silent but deadly, holding the line. Breathless, chest pounding, you realize how close you came to being overwhelmed, how exposed you were alone. Your vulnerability is raw, and yet, in the shared chaos, something shifts — a silent acknowledgment of trust, reliance, and unspoken feelings between the three of you.

The rogue faction retreats after a final, coordinated strike from Gale and Halsin, leaving the forest unnervingly quiet. You sink to your knees, exhausted, trembling from fear and adrenaline. Gale kneels beside you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. Halsin places a steadying hand on your shoulder.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Gale says, voice low but fierce. “Not now, not ever.”

Halsin follows, calm and precise, placing himself on your other side. “We’re here. Together. You don’t have to face this alone.”

You swallow hard, chest heaving, and the weight of truth, fear, and longing presses down all at once. “I… I thought I could manage it,” you whisper. “I didn’t want either of you to get hurt. I didn’t want—”

“You’re not alone,” Gale interrupts, voice soft but urgent. His hand brushes yours, tentative and protective. “And we won’t let you be if that is what you wish for.”

Halsin watches, silent, perceptive. He sees the bond between you and Gale, stronger than he had imagined. He doesn’t interrupt — only flanks you, ready to act, his calm presence a counterbalance to the storm that surrounds you.

You do nothing but let your chest heave and your gaze shift between the two men, realizing the confrontation has broken more than just words. It has laid bare your truths, your fear, and your desire. And in the forest, under the watchful eyes of two men who care more than they should, you feel both vulnerable and fiercely alive.

“Fuck” you think. 

I think I’m in love with them both

The forest is quiet now, the danger past, but your chest heaves, body trembling from fear, adrenaline, and exhaustion. You stumble slightly, and Halsin catches you before you fall, his grip firm, his eyes dark with concern. “You’re safe now,” he murmurs, voice low and steady. 

You nod, trembling, letting his strength ground you. Your gaze flicks to Gale, kneeling a few feet away, eyes scanning your body, hands hovering over your wounds. His worry is palpable, the intensity in his gaze almost painful. “I… I’m fine,” you whisper, trying to steady your voice. The truth is, your body aches, your nerves scream, and your heart is split between the two men before you.

Halsin’s hands move to your shoulders, gently guiding you to sit on his lap on a large moss-covered rock. “Let me see these,” he says, leaning in as his fingers brush over scrapes along your arms. The touch is tender, purposeful, yet there’s heat in his eyes — a possessive spark that makes your pulse quicken.

Gale moves closer, his presence pressing against you like a storm. “I shouldn’t have let you go alone,” he mutters, voice rough with emotion. He kneels beside you, hands hovering near Halsin’s as if he’s claiming space. The tension between them is sharp, and your chest tightens.

You swallow hard, caught between the steady warmth of Halsin and the burning fire of Gale. “I… I’m okay,” you whisper again, though the words feel meaningless.

Halsin’s thumb brushes over your wrist, tracing the line of a scratch with care. “You’re strong,” he says softly, voice low, almost intimate. “But strong doesn’t mean invincible.”

Gale’s hand finds yours, fingers intertwining, pressing lightly but possessively. “You’re not alone,” he says, eyes locking with yours. “Not ever. I’ll make sure of it.”

The forest is silent around you, but the space between the three of you is alive with heat, tension, and unspoken desire. Your body leans slightly into Halsin, drawn to his stability and the way his presence makes your chest feel secure. And yet, you cannot pull away from Gale, the ache in your stomach telling you that fire still burns for him — maybe fiercer than anything else.

“I…” You falter, unsure of how to speak. The words you want to say catch in your throat.

Gale leans in closer, brushing a lock of hair from your face. “I can’t stand seeing you hurt,” he whispers. His lips are dangerously close, his warmth a magnetic pull.

Halsin presses a hand to your cheek, thumb brushing softly. “Nor can I,” he says, voice low, rich with emotion. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Y/N. We just want you… all of you.”

You close your eyes, trembling, caught between two men who love you, desire you, and would protect you without question. Every nerve in your body ignites, and you let yourself be held, let yourself feel. One hand on Halsin, one on Gale, heart pounding with longing, confusion, and the sharp, sweet ache of desire.

Gale presses a kiss to your temple, then trails to your jaw, teasing, soft, possessive. Halsin leans in as well, lips brushing the other side of your neck, hands sliding to rest at your waist. The sensation makes your knees weak, your breath stutter, and you realize — your heart, your body, your soul, want both of them.

You need both of them. 

“Y/N,” Gale murmurs, his voice rough with need, “you’re mine, if you’ll let me be.”

“And mine,” Halsin says, voice low, steady, a promise of passion and protection.

You swallow hard, breath hitching, body trembling, eyes fluttering between them. “I…” You close your eyes, letting the heat and tension wrap around you. “I don’t know how to choose…”

“Then don’t” Gale murmurs, letting his breath tickle your ears “I’m certain that we can figure it out, isn’t that right Halsin?” Halsin grunts in approval while bringing you in closer to him shoving your hips together; Your head suddenly starts to feel fuzzy and overwhelmed with excitement; heat pooling into you, yet the complete intoxication of the thought of having both men fuels you. 

Halsin is hungry; digging his nails onto your hips as ever so slightly grinds his now hard cock against your ass. You start to whimper, raking one hand through Gale’s hair while one hand gently caresses one of your breasts; while the other takes a soft hold of your chin tilting it up to bring your lips together, pausing ever so slightly when they barely touch. “So…What do you say, your highness? “ Gale whispered softly. “Yes, please..I need both of you.” you plead, cheeks flushing as you lean in to kiss Gale, what started off at a gentle kiss from him turned into a dangerously hungrily one as you swirl your tongue around his. Halsin stops grinding against you, rakes his nails across your thighs before sliding a hand into your pants and between your legs, teasing your clothed clit, you feel the rippling effects of both men at work, teasing you, making you crave more. 

Gale pulls away, a string of saliva still connecting the two of you as you gasp for air, he smiles at you, wipes his mouth before slowly taking off his robe and shirt; setting them aside. He then gingerly begins taking off your shirt; the cold air making your nipples hard, you shudder. Before Halsin speaks “Let’s lie you down before the fun can continue”, he takes his hand out; much to your dismay as you whimper, earning a chuckle from the pair as Halsin picks you up like you weigh nothing; as you begin to nibble at his neck. Gale gathers the things as the three of you head back to camp and into the tent; thankful that there is no one else around to see you bare like this. Hasin lays you down on the bed while Gale places things away; working in perfect harmony with no bickering amongst them.

Hasin starts first, taking off his gear and shirt; he stops and kneels down to help you take off the rest of the clothing that you wear; all the while Gale walks to the other side of the bed; admiring your beauty. “You are the most beautiful thing.” he whispers, now suddenly completely naked, his cock fully exposed and hard, dripping with pre-cum. Hasin, still in his boxers; quickly takes them of while he kisses and nibbles at your stomach, slowly making his way down to your inner thighs; feeling his breath against your lips as he parts them gently, before beginning to finger you with his index and middle finger, playing with the wetness of your entrance before lapping and sucking on the clit while carefully moving his fingers in and out. You start to moan, head tiled back to find Gale stunned in awe at your beauty. Suddenly you had an instinct to grab onto Gale’s thigh, bringing him closer as you start to stroke his dick; Gale yelps in surprise, before grabbing and holding your mouth open. “Give me two taps on the thigh when you need me to stop; ok my star?” he says softly; you nod before feeling his cock slowly entering your mouth; you moan, swirling your tongue, hollowing your cheeks, all the while moaning and squirming into his mouth. “That’s it” Gales coos “You’re being such a good girl for us.”  slowly building up a rhythm of fucking your mouth; Haslan moans as he looks up to see you; quicking his pace to the sound of all of you moaning.  The stimulation of Haslan and Gale pushes you to the edge and sends a shot of electricity into you. You quickly give Gale two taps onto his thigh, as he pulls out and reveals the sloppy and wet mess you just made on him. Causing him to begin to pump his own dick; a mix of pre-cum and your spit lubricating it. 

“G-Gale..H-Haslan i’m gonna c-” you blurted, suddenly feeling Haslan greedily setting the pace faster; he brings his face up while he watches “Do it, show us how much you needed this.” He says; sending you to dissolve into pleasure as the rolling fire in you sends you into a wave of orgasmic bliss. Time slows as you can feel your walls start to pulse against Haslan’s fingers. 

Halsan stops; taking his fingers out of your entrance; and smiling. “You’re doing so well my love. Do you want to stop or- "

"NO.” You beg “No please I need you both.” 

Halsan looks at Gale, then back to you “Gale, would you like to go first? I wish to watch our highness at work.” Gale eagerly nods, switching places with Halsan as he pulls up a chair, making himself comfortable as he slowly begins jerking off. 

Gale kneels on the bed, his dick pressed against your folds, leaning in for a deep kiss, grinding his cock against you. You begin to moan softly again, before pushing him out of the kiss and pleading “Please Gale, no more teasin’, I beg of you.” He chuckles softly, placing a kiss on your forehead before whispering “Of course my love, anything for you.” while slowly sinking his cock into you; you both gasp softly at this full feeling. Your brain feels like it's in another world as he starts to set a slow pace, your legs rising to hook them around his waist; pulling him in even deeper. Moans from the two of you while Gale takes your wrists and pins them above your head, his head lowering to moan and focus on your pleasure. Halsan groans in the background; pumping his cock at the sight of you both. You and Gale both become louder in passion as he lets go of your wrists and you grab onto the pillow above you, arching your back in pure bliss. “Gods Y/N, you’re so beautiful" Gale moans, slamming his cock into you as he starts losing his own rhythm. You cry out “Gale- it feels so good.” the musky smell of the night sending you over the edge once again, Gale pressed your foreheads together, grunting and groaning at the feeling of you getting tighter. “I can't hold it much longer” He says, before the both of you feel his throbbing cock release into you. You groan as the pressure becomes too much, sending you into your second orgasm of the night. You start to play with your clit like it was the last thing you need to do; never wanting this feeling to go away. You begin to kiss him gently as wave after wave of aftershock hits you both. 

Meanwhile Halsin is at his breaking point, moaning loudly as he pumps his cock engulfed in the sight. He stands up to gently push Gale out of the way, with a sudden moan of your name, he cums; sending his white liquid all over your breasts and hair. Gale pulls out, gaining a small whimper from you before there is a slight pause, “Y/N I- Im sorry I didn't realise that-” “It’s all right Gale. I don’t mind.” He smiles, giving you a quick peck on the cheek before moving out of the way, laying on the other side of the bed. Halsin gives you a deep kiss lifting you up in order to take his position lying on his back. 

You’re suddenly on top of him; his cock in between your entrance and his stomach as you lean more into the kiss, grinding on him to hopefully release some more as Gale’s sticky liquid slowly comes out of your tight, red hole. Halsin grabs hold of your hips forcing you to stop before supporting you to start sinking onto his dick. You let out a gasp as he spends no time setting his own pace, pulling your hips down harder. Gale sees you tilt your head back in a moan as you begin riding Halsin, breasts bouncing to the pace as you moan and mumble under the pleasure, he takes the opportunity to move closer to begin playing with your nipples by teasing them in between his fingers. You begin to plead to the both of them to “keep going.” and how it feels so good. Halsin’s pace soon becomes sloppy as the adrenaline sends him into a frenzy; causing you to scream in pleasure as Gale whispers sweet nothings into your ear, Halsin then grunts loudly slamming up into you one last time as his cock pulsates into you. Moaning a mix of curse words and your name; until he gently helps you up, rolls you over for Gale to catch you,placing your head underneath his arm keeping his head up, the buzzing of pleasure and Gale teasing your clit one last time sending you into a final orgasmic bliss. 

–-

You nestle between Gale and Halsin, their bodies a steady, comforting presence around you. The scratches on your arms sting faintly, but the worry, the fear, and the longing that had surged earlier are replaced by a quiet calm.

Gale’s arm drapes protectively across your shoulders, his fingers brushing gently along your collarbone. Halsin sits close, hand resting lightly on your back, thumb tracing slow, soothing circles. You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the comfort of them both.

“You’re safe,” Gale murmurs, lips brushing your hairline. “I won’t let anything hurt you.”

“And I’ll always be here,” Halsin adds softly, voice low and steady. “To protect, to support, to be near you — however you need me.”

You let out a shaky breath, curling closer to them, feeling warmth radiate from both sides. Their closeness is grounding, a reminder that you are seen, wanted, loved — not just for your strength, but for all the parts of you they cherish.

Gale leans down, placing a soft kiss on your temple, then another at the tip of your nose. “You’re incredible, Y/N,” he whispers, voice husky but gentle. “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. Not to me, not to Halsin, not to the world.”

Halsin presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering, his lips warm and reassuring. “You are adored,” he says quietly. “Completely and utterly. By both of us.”

You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, not from fear this time, but from the overwhelming sensation “I… I feel it,” you whisper, voice trembling but soft. “I feel it so much. And it’s… it’s terrifying and wonderful all at once.”

Gale tightens his arm around you slightly, and Halsin’s hand presses more firmly to your back, holding you between them. “Then let us be here,” Gale says softly. “Let us show you every day that you are loved, that you are wanted.”

“And let us remind you,” Halsin adds, “that you are never alone. Not in the forest, not in the palace, not anywhere.”

You close your eyes fully, letting the world fall away. Between the two of them you allow yourself to simply exist — without fear, without expectation, without the weight of choices pressing down. For now, all that matters is this moment, and the love that holds you so completely.

Soft kisses press to your hair, your cheeks, your temple, a silent promise that they will be there, always. And as you drift slightly in the quiet of the night, you realize that love does not have to be simple to be real. It can be many things at once — fierce, steady, passionate, tender — and in that truth, you find peace.

The night presses in around the carriage, darkness thick and silent except for the creak of wheels over the stone-dirt road. You sit closest to Halsin, fingers tracing the edges of the folded map in your lap. Candles flicker, casting warm, unsteady light over the three of you. You do nothing but follow his movements with quiet attention as he adjusts the map beside you, his hand brushing yours. You feel the subtle pulse of reassurance, the care in every gesture, yet your chest tightens with an ache you cannot place. 

“The roads will be tricky,” you say softly, eyes scanning the terrain beyond the carriage window. “If we don’t move quickly, the rogue Weave factions could take advantage of the border.”

Halsin leans slightly closer, resting his hand over the edge of the map. “We’ll make it,” he says. “You’ve carried so much already. Let me share the burden.”

You force a polite smile, but your mind drifts. Gale. His absence, his return, the firelight in his eyes during the breach — all of it curls in your chest. You can feel the distance between him and Halsin in this confined space, tension threaded through every glance, every gesture.

Across from you, Gale’s sharp gaze sweeps the passing woods. His posture is taut, measured, every sense alert. Halsin observes him carefully, quietly noting the subtle movements — the way Gale’s eyes flick toward you when he thinks no one is watching, the faint tension in his shoulders when you adjust your cloak or move in the carriage.

“You’ve changed,” Halsin says softly, voice low, almost conversational. “Since you left the castle… more precise. Controlled. Careful.”

Gale’s eyes meet Halsin’s, flat, unreadable. “I have to be,” he says. “People out there are reckless. I can’t afford mistakes.”

Halsin nods slowly, yet his eyes do not leave Gale. Something in the tension between you and Gale strikes him — the lingering energy, the stolen glances, the silent communication. He files it away, alert, piecing together fragments he never noticed before.

Later, as the moon rises high above the hills, Gale leans slightly toward the edge of the carriage to cast protective wards around the road. You do nothing but watch him, noting the grace and lethal precision in his movements. Halsin, seated beside you, notices the way your gaze lingers. His brow tightens imperceptibly.

Every shadow along the road seems charged with tension. The horses stamp, their hooves clattering against stone. You tuck your fingers into your lap, heart racing with a mixture of anticipation and dread.

When the carriage halts at a clearing, Halsin sets up camp with methodical precision. You assist him, arranging supplies, setting lanterns, and casting minor protective wards. Every gesture he offers is polite, almost too careful . “You’re remarkably composed for someone managing both a kingdom and magical defenses,” Halsin says quietly as you secure a tent flap. “Few would keep their focus under such pressure.” You do nothing but nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. His words are comforting, but you cannot stop thinking of Gale — the one who handled the breach with effortless precision, whose presence sends your chest tightening, whose quiet strength tethers your heart in ways Halsin cannot yet touch.

Gale moves along the perimeter, adjusting wards, eyes flicking over the darkness. You can feel the intensity in every motion, every flicker of the Weave around him. His proximity sends a warmth through you, a sharp reminder of what has always been there, unspoken. Halsin notices. You see it in the subtle way he tilts his head, studies Gale’s movements, and watches you. Pieces are beginning to click in his mind: stolen glances, protective gestures, the tension that threads between you and Gale. Yet he does not speak, maintaining his calm façade, but the awareness is clear.

Night deepens, shadows pooling around the camp. You sit by the fire, hands wrapped around a warm mug, trying to steady your racing heart. Gale moves silently along the edge of the perimeter, and you can feel him more than you see him; quiet, tethered presence, watching, protective. Halsin sits nearby, polite, attentive, offering quiet conversation about strategy and reports from the road. Every word reinforces his care, but your thoughts drift, tugged by memory: Gale’s hand brushing yours in the breach, his focused intensity, the closeness that left your chest fluttering.

Even as Halsin talks, you feel the silent thread connecting you and Gale, the unspoken bond that neither of you can ignore. He is there, and yet just out of reach, his protective energy brushing against you like a reminder of everything unspoken. Halsin notices it too as the way your eyes track him, the faint tension in your fingers, the way you lean slightly toward the fire when Gale passes.

The fire crackles low, casting flickering shadows across the cabin walls. You sit between them, but the tension is thick enough to taste. Halsin watches you closely, eyes sharp, a question already forming in his mind.

“You and Gale,” he begins cautiously, “you’ve known each other a long time, haven’t you?”

You freeze slightly, aware of the weight behind his words. Gale shifts beside you, jaw tightening, eyes narrowing.

“Yes,” he says curtly, voice clipped. “We’ve known each other.”

Halsin tilts his head, persistent. “How long? Before you came to the court?”

Gale glares at him, irritation rising. “Do you really need the specifics? Or is this just idle curiosity?”

You bite your lip, panic rising in your chest. The way Halsin is piecing it together, the intensity in Gale’s gaze, the closeness — it’s too much. Before either of them can stop you, you move toward the door, the night air hitting your face as you step outside. The tension inside the camp lingers in your chest, your thoughts spiraling as you pace beneath the stars.

Gale and Halsin exchange a glance. Gale runs a hand through his hair, jaw tight with annoyance. “I can’t believe he’s asking these questions,” he mutters under his breath. 

Halsin, calm but perceptive, shakes his head slightly. “I’m not blind,” he says quietly. “I just… needed clarity, and I found it.” As he gets up “And now if you will excuse me; I need a word with my wife.” 

–-

You pace the edge of the camp, hands clenching your cloak, trying to steady the rapid thrum of panic in your chest. Every flash of memory — the garden, the breach, the letter, the library — all collide into a whirlwind of longing, guilt, and fear. You then see Halsin appear as his expression shifts, a flicker of anger and hurt passing through his calm features. “I don’t understand,” he says finally, voice low but sharp. “How… How could you accept this marriage, Y/N? I know that the two of you had history, but I did not think how deep it truly was. ”

Your stomach drops. You open your mouth, but words fail you. You do nothing but shrink slightly under the weight of his gaze.

Your jaw tightens. “Halsin—” you begin, voice wavering, but Halsin cuts you off.

“No, Y/N. You don’t get to apologise,” Halsin snaps. “You chose this life, or at least you let it happen. Do you realize what that means? The betrayal to not only me but the people we look after? To the loyalty you’ve ignored because of him?”

Upon hearing this commotion Gale appeared, eyes flash dangerously, tension coiling in his posture. “She didn’t betray anyone,” he growls. “This isn’t about loyalty. It’s about protecting her and letting her have freedom — something you clearly don’t understand!”

Halsin steps closer, voice rising. “Protecting her? Is that what you call it? Running in circles, leaving her vulnerable, letting her shoulder burdens alone while you—”

You clutch your hands to your chest, heart hammering. The firelight flickers across their angry, determined faces, and your chest feels like it might split. You can’t take it — the shouting, the accusations, the impossible tension. You stumble to your feet.

“Please.” you say quietly before you glare at the both of them while they bicker, getting louder with each word, finally gaining the courage to face them head on “can you both just stop?”  

You step back, taking a deep, shaky breath as both men stare at you, tension coiled like steel in the air. Your hands ball into fists at your sides, the firelight catching in your eyes.

“I need you both to understand something,” you say, voice trembling but firm. “I didn’t have a choice in any of this.” You swallow hard, letting the words hit the quiet night between you. “The marriage, the arrangement of Gale coming back.. all of it was decided for me. I did not consent in the way you think I did. So don’t… don’t act like I had any say in any of this.”

Gale’s expression tightens, a mixture of frustration and hurt flashing across his face. Halsin’s jaw sets, eyes narrowing as he processes your words.

“This isn’t about what you think is right, or what you want,” you continue, stepping closer, shoulders trembling. “I didn’t choose it, and I didn’t have the power to. And it’s unfair of either of you to assume I could — or should — navigate this in a way that suits your feelings. I’m the one living it, not either of you. Do you understand?”

They don’t respond at once, the silence heavy and full of weight. You do nothing but meet their eyes, daring them to argue, to object, to dismiss your truth.

“I am trying to survive in a world that has already made decisions for me,” you whisper, voice breaking slightly. “And you two… you’re letting your pride and your feelings blind you to the fact that I’m the one paying the cost. Stop assuming, stop pushing, and for once, try listening. Because this… this isn’t just about either of you.”

Gale blinks, momentarily taken aback, jaw tightening. Halsin’s eyes narrow, the flicker of anger now tempered by realization.

You swallow hard, letting your chest heave with the weight of honesty, realizing that the truth has finally been spoken — no matter how uncomfortable, no matter how much it shakes them, they now see you, fully, as you are.

Gale’s chest heaves slightly, frustration burning in his eyes. “Y/N…” he begins, voice low but edged with emotion, “you’ve always—”

Halsin interrupts, jaw tight, his calm exterior faltering. “I… I didn’t realize—” he begins, but you shake your head. The weight of the conversation is too much, too immediate, and your chest constricts. Panic rises like a tide. “I… I need to be alone” you whisper, voice trembling. Before either of them can stop you, you turn and flee into the woods, the night air hitting your face like a shock of cold reality.

Branches scrape against your cloak as you stumble deeper into the forest, heart hammering, magic tingling at your fingertips. The tension, the guilt, the longing — it all presses down, making it hard to breathe. You keep moving, desperate to escape the weight of their eyes, their words, and the impossible that has ensnared you. 

And for the first time in what feels like forever; you cry.

Morning arrived without mercy.

The council chambers filled early, sunlight filtering through high windows and catching on gold inlays etched into the stone floors. It should have been an ordinary working day — negotiations, revisions, logistics — the quiet machinery of governance turning as it always did.

Instead, tension coiled beneath every breath.

As you stood at the head of the chamber, posture immaculate, expression composed. If anyone watching closely might have noticed the faint stiffness in your shoulders, the way your fingers lingered a second too long over parchment, no one dared comment. Leadership taught you how to carry strain without letting it show.

Gale noticed anyway. Of course he did.

He had taken his place at the long table opposite you, stacks of documents neatly arranged, arcane notes inked in precise script. He told himself he was here to work — to advise, to stabilize wards, to serve the city.

And yet, every time you spoke, his attention fractured.

You moved with practiced authority, voice calm and steady, but there was something brittle beneath it now. Something held too tightly. Gale recognized it instantly — the same way he always had. It unsettled him more than any whispered rumor ever could.

Halsin stood beside her, close but not touching.

A quiet presence. Solid. Grounded.

Too grounded.

“Let’s begin,” You say, meeting the room with steady resolve. “The outer districts remain vulnerable until the ley lines are reinforced. Gale, your assessment?”

All eyes turned to him.

Gale inclined his head, grateful for the anchor of the task. “The wards can be strengthened within a fortnight,” he replied evenly. “Provided we coordinate with the druids and ensure uninterrupted access to the river stones.”

Halsin nodded. “My circle can oversee the ritual,” he added smoothly. “But it will require sustained cooperation between our orders.”

Cooperation.

The word settled heavily between the three of you.

You felt it like a physical thing, the necessity of it, the inescapable closeness it demanded. You gestured for both of them to step nearer, spreading the maps across the central table.

For the rest of the morning, there was no avoiding it.

As the three of you work shoulder to shoulder, voices overlapping in careful rhythm. Gale offered precise arcane solutions; Halsin countered with natural balance and long-term consequence. Neither spoke over the other. Neither yielded ground easily.

And you stood between them, mediator and monarch both.

You felt the pull of Gale’s attention like a quiet heat — never improper, never spoken aloud, but always there. Every time he leaned in to indicate a rune or clarify a calculation, your breath caught just enough to remind her you were not as composed as you tried to appear.

Halsin noticed that too. He did not comment.

Instead, he adjusted his stance — subtly, deliberately — placing himself closer to her side. A grounding presence. A reminder. When he spoke to you, his voice softened just enough to be intimate without crossing a line.

“You should sit,” he murmured at one point, low enough that only she could hear. “You’ve been standing for hours.”

“I’m fine,” you replied automatically.

Gale looked up at the same moment.

“You’re not,” he said, equally quiet, concerned about breaking through restraint before he could stop it.

The air went still.

You straightened, forcing a measured smile. “I assure you, I am.”

Neither man seemed convinced.

By midday, the chamber felt smaller.

Every shared glance carried weight. Every pause stretched too long. Gale found himself bristling at Halsin’s familiarity, at the ease with which he reached for your attention — and worse, at how naturally she allowed it.

Halsin, for his part, felt the tension sharpen with every passing hour. Gale’s concern was not disruptive, but it was undeniable. The way his gaze followed her, the instinctive way he stepped in when her focus wavered; these were not the gestures of a mere advisor.

And you were painfully aware of both of them.

 Moving carefully, choosing words with deliberate neutrality, refusing to lean toward either presence more than necessary. Still, the strain accumulated — duty pressing from all sides, emotion held at bay by sheer will.

By late afternoon, the decision was unavoidable.

“We’ll need to inspect the river wards in person,” you say, rolling up the final map. “Together.”

Gale exhaled slowly.

Halsin nodded once. “Of course.”

None of them spoke the obvious truth: there was no version of together that would not test them.

The walk through the outer gardens was quiet, the city’s distant hum softened by greenery and stone. Sunlight dappled the path, leaves whispering overhead — a setting too gentle for the tension it held.

You walked between them.

Gale stayed half a step behind, watchful, as if guarding her from exhaustion she refused to admit. Halsin walked at her side, matching her pace, his presence steady and grounding.

It should have been unbearable.

Instead, it was worse — manageable.

That was what frightened you the most.

At the river’s edge, they stopped. Gale knelt to inspect the stones, fingers tracing faintly glowing sigils. Halsin murmured to the water, testing its response. You watched them both, chest tight with the knowledge that this balance could not last.

For a brief moment, Gale looked up.

Their eyes met.

Something unspoken passed between the two of you. Maybe recognition, restraint, a question neither dared ask. Halsin straightened at the same time, his gaze settling on them with quiet understanding. The day continued. Work was done and nothing was said.

And yet, as evening approached, all three knew the truth:

This was no longer a matter of duty alone; someone would eventually break.

Gale moves through forests and hills, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and smoke from distant villages. You do not know where he is, and for good reason. Rogue Weave users, untrained and reckless, have been taking advantage of the borders, causing disturbances that threaten not only the kingdom but anyone who steps too close. He intercepts them silently, weaving the Weave with a precision sharpened by months of absence. Spells crackle in the shadows, wards snap into place, and dangerous magic collapses harmlessly under his control. Every motion is exact, deliberate — lethal when necessary, but never wasteful. His focus is unyielding, yet his thoughts drift constantly to you.

At night, under the stars, he unrolls a letter he never sent, pressing it to his chest. You are in every word, every pause, every fold of that paper. He whispers your name to the wind, imagining your fingers tracing the words, imagining your voice reading them aloud. He allows himself a brief, private moment of longing — a memory of the gardens, of stolen glances, of promises whispered in the moonlight. Then he sets it aside, refocuses, and steps back into the fight.

In one village, a rogue Weave user attempts to summon fire near a market. Gale moves with sharp precision: one gesture, a shield forms, a spark is caught mid-air, and the danger is dissipated before anyone notices. A mother clutching her child looks up in awe, unaware of the danger just passed. Gale’s jaw tightens. Every time he protects innocents, every time he neutralizes threats, he thinks of you. The thought fuels him, keeps him grounded — and yet, it reminds him of what he’s missing.

Even in solitude, even in danger, the idea of returning to you lingers. He imagines the weight of your gaze, the way you read him without words, the subtle warmth that comes from knowing someone sees your heart. It is both comfort and ache, a tether to a life paused while he fights unseen battles.

When he finally returns, the castle is alive with tension. Courtiers whisper in the hallways, advisors glance at one another, and even Halsin notices the way his presence shifts the room. You watch him from a balcony overlooking the courtyard, heart catching at the sight of him. Dust clings to his cloak, sunlight glinting off the edge of his hair, and the weight of absence tightens in your chest.

“Halsin,” you murmur under your breath, the name tasting bitter and guilty. “Gale’s back.”

You do nothing but follow him through the halls. His eyes flick to every shadow, every detail, noting potential threats, analyzing movements. He is sharper, colder, and undeniably more dangerous than the man who left. Yet the way he moves, precise and controlled, still carries the echo of him — the Gale you know and cannot forget.

The council summons you immediately. Factions question recent alliances, whispers of political sabotage travel through the castle, and everyone senses the fragility of the kingdom’s peace. You feel the weight of their expectations pressing down, and Gale is at your side, silent and vigilant. Every glance, every subtle gesture, carries meaning. You want to reach for him, but the rules, the politics, and Halsin’s presence keep your hands at your sides. You missed him. You feared for him. And yet, you also knew that part of him returned to the castle not for comfort, but to confront the chaos left in your absence.

You remember his words, the promise that lingered in the ink, the quiet insistence that you were still his in ways the world could not touch. You wish you could tell him that the longing was mutual, that every council meeting, every whispered threat, every shadowed glance made you think of him.

-Break-

The castle is quiet for once, the only light coming from scattered candles flickering along the walls. You, Gale, and Halsin are poring over maps and reports in the war room, late into the night. The council’s demands weigh heavy on your shoulders, but the stillness offers a rare moment of focus. You feel Gale’s eyes on you more than once, subtle glances that make your chest tighten. Halsin notices, of course, the way your fingers brush over parchment when your hand trembles slightly, the way your posture shifts when Gale leans in to point something out on the map. He doesn’t speak yet, but the quiet scrutiny in his gaze tells you he’s starting to see more than he should.

A sudden knock at the door startles you. A guard steps inside, breathless and wide-eyed.

“Your Highness! The northern walls — they’ve been breached! Rogue Weave users, they’ve infiltrated the perimeter!”

The room explodes into motion. You do nothing but grab your cloak and position yourself beside Gale. Halsin rises smoothly, calm but alert, already moving to secure exits and flank positions.

Outside, the night air is thick with tension. Shadows twist beneath the moonlight, distorted by the flames of protective wards and the flicker of lanterns. You can hear the distant crackle of magic before you see it, and your pulse races.

Gale moves first, fluid and controlled. His gestures send arcs of the Weave dancing through the courtyard, deflecting bolts of rogue magic aimed at the walls. Sparks illuminate his face in flashes — the sharp curve of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes. You do nothing but follow, reinforcing his wards with your own minor spells, heart hammering at the proximity and the danger.

Halsin positions himself near you, offering steady support, but you notice him watching Gale carefully, the subtle tightening of his jaw, the way he shifts slightly closer to gauge your reactions. You realize he’s beginning to notice something — the tension, the history, the unspoken bond that stretches between you and Gale.

A rogue bursts past the outer ward, dagger raised, magic crackling dangerously. Your fingers move instinctively, sending a shield just in time, but it wavers under the force. Gale steps beside you, hand brushing against your back as he channels a powerful, protective spell that sends the attacker sprawling harmlessly to the ground. You feel the heat of his presence linger longer than necessary, heart stuttering.

Halsin’s eyes flicker between you two, a silent question forming in his mind, but he says nothing, focusing on the other attackers. The battle continues — rogue Weave users strike in waves, Gale counters with lethal precision, you reinforce, and Halsin covers your flanks. The courtyard is alive with light and shadow, sparks and sound, every movement charged with danger and unspoken tension.

Finally, Gale channels the Weave into a brilliant protective barrier, neutralizing the remaining attackers. Silence falls, broken only by the labored breathing of you, Gale, and Halsin.

-----

You clutch the edge of your desk inside the war room later, hands trembling slightly, remembering the heat of Gale’s presence, the brush of his hand against yours, the proximity that left your chest tight. Halsin steps closer, and you feel his calm steadiness, but also the faint tension in his posture. He doesn’t speak, but you know he is starting to put the pieces together; then again, it could be the anxiety in your chest.

A messenger arrives, urgent and polite: the council requires all three of you to travel immediately. The rogue faction’s attack is only a symptom of broader unrest. You glance at Gale, who allows a brief flicker of acknowledgment, before focusing again on the report in front of him. The weight of duty presses down, but so does the tension between you, Gale, and Halsin as a fragile thread that has only grown tauter tonight.

You do nothing but steal one last glance at Gale, feeling both relief and longing, knowing that this could be either the best or worst thing that has ever happened to you. 

The wedding ceremony is everything it is meant to be.

You stand beneath vaulted stone and woven branches, white and gold catching the light like something sanctified. The fabric of your dress is heavy with embroidery — leaves, stars, symbols of unity meant to reassure a watching court that this alliance is sacred, chosen, unbreakable. A circlet rests against your brow, cool and steady, though nothing else in you feels so composed. You say the vows when prompted. You place your hand in Halsin’s when instructed. You smile when the court expects it.

Halsin’s expression is open, warm, and radiant with sincerity. When he looks at you, it is with patience and devotion, with a certainty that makes your chest ache for reasons you refuse to name. He believes in this. In you. In what this marriage represents.

You tell yourself that must be enough.

And yet—

You feel it.

Even before you allow yourself to look, you know where Gale stands.

At the edge of the hall, half-shadowed by banners and pillars, watching. Not intruding. Not approaching. Just there as constant and undeniable as gravity. When your gaze finally lifts, it finds him instantly, like it always has.

His face is unreadable. Carefully composed. The kind of expression he wears when he is containing something volatile.

But his eyes do not let go of you.

Not when you vow loyalty. Not when the rings are exchanged. Not when Halsin leans in to press a reverent kiss to your knuckles.

You feel Gale’s attention like heat against your skin, like a spell half-cast and held at the edge of release. It follows you through every breath, every word, every step down the aisle. And when the applause rises, polite and thunderous, you swear it’s only to drown out the sound of your heart breaking quietly in your chest.

That night, the palace settles into celebration.

Music drifts through open halls. Laughter echoes where corridors twist and overlap. Servants move like ghosts, careful not to disturb the fragile triumph of the evening.

The court gathers in silk and candlelight, diplomacy disguised as revelry. You wear another gown — darker this time, embroidered with subtle sigils of authority rather than romance. You move through the crowd as you always do, measured and precise, until you see him.

Gale is dancing.

Not with you

The woman at his side laughs too brightly, fingers resting just a moment too long on his sleeve. He allows it. His hand rests at her waist, polite, distant — but present enough that something hot and irrational coils in your chest.

Jealousy takes you by surprise. Sharp. Possessive. Unwelcome.

You excuse yourself before the dance ends. Taking more wine then what you could handle; and drinking it in one big gulp. You’ve seen enough.

You slip quietly through the castle corridors, hands curling around the edges of the letter Gale sent weeks ago — the one you read and reread when nights felt too long, too empty. The ink is faded now, the folds soft from your fingers tracing them over and over. You don’t want anyone to see you clutching it, don’t want anyone to know that Gale’s words still weigh heavier than your crown.

When you enter the library, the scent of old parchment and polished wood fills you, grounding you. Suddenly he walks in to stand by the tall windows, arms crossed, gaze flicking to the horizon, but the moment you sense him, your expression hardens slightly.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said, though your voice betrays you with the tremor you try to hide.

Gale doesn’t move toward you, doesn’t step back. He simply watches, letting the silence between you thrum. “I could say the same,” he says finally, and his tone carries the memory of every unspoken word you’ve left between you.

You clutch the letter tighter. “I was… reading this again,” you said softly, holding it out toward him. “I needed… to remember.”

He glances at the folded paper, his eyes flicking to yours, and for the first time since the wedding, the weight of absence seems to crack the air between you. “You read it more than once?” he asks, voice low, almost a whisper. “Did it help?”

You bite your lip, uncertain. “I… it reminds me of what we… what I wanted. Before everything got… complicated.”

Gale steps closer, and you feel the pull immediately, the heat in the space between you, the danger of proximity that neither of you can ignore. “And now?” he asks, almost too casually.

You hesitate, glancing down at the letter. “Now I’m married, you mean” you say, letting the word fall like a stone. Your fingers tremble over the paper. “But it doesn’t… change everything we've been through.”

He stiffens, jaw tightening, but you don’t flinch. You can see the war waging in his eyes. you see the longing, the anger, the ache of being excluded from your life in ways he can’t control. “You think I stopped caring,” he says, voice sharp but controlled, “just because your hand bears another man’s ring?”

Your chest aches at the honesty, at the raw edge in his tone. “No,” you whisper, stepping closer, though not close enough to reach him. “I know you didn’t. And… I haven’t stopped feeling anything either.”

For a heartbeat, the library seems suspended in time — the smell of books, the soft glow of candlelight, the weight of the letter between your hands — all of it reminding you that some things can’t be contained.

Then the tension snaps, sharp and dangerous. “You can’t just—” he starts, gesturing with one hand toward the ring, toward the reality you’ve tried to reconcile.

“I know!” you interrupt, frustration and longing twisting together. “I didn’t choose this to hurt you. I didn’t choose… any of it. But we both know this was never just about us!”

He swallows, expression unreadable, and you see it — the quiet storm behind his eyes. “I know,” he says finally, tone quieter, closer to something like confession. “I just… hate that I’m here, watching you walk this line without me.”

Your fingers tighten on the letter. “I wish things were different,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “I wish… we had more time, more… space to figure out how we feel before…”

“Before Halsin?” Gale says, the name heavy but unspoken between both of you. He doesn’t need to say it aloud for you to feel the tension.

You nod, a slow, guilty movement. “Yes. Before everything became so… official.”

He studies you, the fire in his eyes meeting the careful composure in yours, and for a moment, it feels like you could collapse into the space between the words and the silence and the past you both share.

“You’re still mine,” he says finally, voice soft, dangerous. “Even if you don’t see it. Even if the world thinks otherwise. You are still mine, in every way that matters.”

Your heart stutters, caught between longing, fear, and the guilt that coils around Halsin’s presence, even if he is nowhere near this library. “And you’re still… you,” you whisper back, fingers brushing the edge of the letter, unsure if you mean the man, the mage, the friend, or all of it.

He steps closer, closing the distance just slightly, and you can feel the heat, the weight, the ache of months of absence and unspoken truths. “We’ll figure this out,” he says softly, almost a vow. “But right now… this is all I have.”

You swallow, letting the words settle, knowing they are both promise and danger. You can’t deny him, not here, not now. And yet, the letter in your hands reminds you that some things have to remain hidden… at least for now.

Later…

You sit with Halsin over wine at the end of the celebration just one glass, then another — the fire low, the air heavy with unspoken understanding. He speaks gently, never pushing, never assuming.

You listen. You nod. You thank him.

When he tells you he will wait for you again, that there is no rush, no expectation — relief loosens something in you so suddenly you almost gasp. Guilt follows close behind, sharp and immediate. You accept his kindness with hands folded tight in your lap, hoping he cannot see how badly you need it.

You sleep alone that night.

The bed feels too large. The crown rests on the table, untouched. Your ring feels heavier than gold.

The next morning, after saying your good byes to the guests, you overhear some gossiping from some of the service maids.

"Poor Gale...vanishes without a simple goodbye? How odd of him.."

Present Day

You understood why they trusted him and why the match made sense.  Still, as the voices around you blurred into approval and relief, thoughts had drifted elsewhere — to the quiet of the palace library where Gale used to work late into the night, to the way he listened as though her thoughts were worth unraveling, to the space he once occupied so naturally at her side.

You did not resent Halsin. Not anymore, at least. 

He was kind. He was patient. He did not look at her as something to be claimed, but as someone to stand beside. When he spoke to you, it was with respect, not expectation. There was comfort in that. A sense of steadiness she could lean on when the weight of the crown pressed too hard.

But comfort was not the same as longing.

You press your palm lightly against the windowpane, grounding yourself on the cool surface. Your reflection stared back — composed, capable, a ruler shaped by responsibility rather than indulgence.

No one could see the tightness in her chest.

No one could hear the quiet thought beneath the calm: If Gale were here, would this have happened so quickly? 

She did not know the answer. That uncertainty hurt most of all.

----------

Later, when Halsin came to find her, his steps were measured, respectful. He stopped a careful distance away, as though mindful of the space she carried around herself these days.

“I know this was sudden,” he said gently. “If you need time—”

You turn toward him, offering a small, practiced smile. “The realm doesn’t have the luxury of waiting.”

His gaze softened, understanding without pity. “And you?”

Your breath caught 

“I will….adapt,” 

Halsin nodded, accepting the answer for what it was. “Then we will move forward carefully,” he replied. “This arrangement does not require you to sacrifice more than you already have.”

The words were generous. Thoughtful.

And still, they reminded you of everything she had already given up.

When you were alone again, you finally returned to the table. The parchment waited patiently, unmoving, indifferent to the hesitation curling in her chest. Tracing the edge of the document with your fingers, eyes skimming the formal language. The future it promised was orderly, secure, and defensible. It would protect the people. Your people. It would quell dissent. It would strengthen the family reign.

It would do everything it was meant to do.

And yet, you found yourself thinking of a palace garden at night, of laughter softened by moonlight, of a kiss that had not been planned but had felt inevitable. Wondering where Gale was now — whether he thought of you, whether the distance between them had been intentional or merely another consequence of duty.

You wonder if he would hear of the engagement through rumor or ink, impersonal and cold.

The thought settled heavily in her chest.

You straightened, lifting her chin. Whatever doubts she carried would not be allowed to rule her. She had been shaped by responsibility long before this moment, pressing your signet into the wax, sealing the contract with a steady hand.

The wax cooled. The vow was made.

And somewhere beyond the palace walls — in the space he once occupied so effortlessly — Gale was absent in a way that felt far louder than his presence ever had.

----------

The city gates opened to welcome him, but Gale hardly noticed the bustle of courtiers and merchants. His mind was consumed by the thought of her — Y/N. Time had passed since he’d last seen her, four years since Candlekeep and the observatory, and one since that night in the palace garden where something unspoken had begun to stir between them.

Now, returning to the palace, he expected relief, familiarity, the comfort of old routines. Instead, he found something entirely different.

As He entered the great hall, expecting to see her immersed in her courtly duties, poised and commanding as always. Instead, his gaze fell upon Y/N standing beside Halsin.

Halsin’s presence was calm, confident, and easy — the kind of charm that disarmed anyone at first glance. His hand rested lightly against hers as they discussed trade arrangements, his voice low and warm. Gale stepped forward, intending to greet her warmly, when a courtier whispered something to him, almost casually:

“Your grace, congratulations are due — Lady Y/N and Lord Halsin’s engagement has been formalized. The announcement is to be made at the council tonight.”

Engaged? His chest tightened, a sharp, sudden pain. His eyes flicked from the courtier to Y/N, and then to Halsin, who stood close, polite and attentive in a way that made his stomach twist.

Y/N turned at the sound of his footsteps, her expression lighting with recognition and relief. “Gale,” she said softly, unaware of the storm building in his chest. “It’s good to see you again.”He forced a measured smile, nodding. “It’s… good to be back,” he said, voice strained. “You’ve been keeping the court in order?” “I’ve been managing,” she replied lightly, tone steady, betraying none of the tension Gale felt. Her posture near Halsin was flawless — polite, graceful, careful, yet carrying a subtle deference that made Gale’s chest tighten.

Gale didn’t need words to see past it. His eyes traced the faint crease in her brow, the slight tightness in her shoulders, the way her hands lingered on the edge of the table as if holding herself upright. The practiced elegance was there, yes, but the exhaustion, the overextension — the truth behind “managing” — was unmistakable. She’s pushing herself too hard. She’s barely keeping it together, he realized, and a surge of protectiveness rolled through him. “Managing?” he murmured, stepping closer. “That doesn’t look like managing. That looks like… burning yourself out.”

Y/N forced a small, polite smile, but her eyes flickered with guilt, surprise, and something else — a flicker of longing. She didn’t deny him, because she knew he could see the truth in a way no one else could. “You always know how to see through me,” she admitted softly.

Gale’s heart thudded. He wanted to reach out, to brush a stray lock of hair from her face, to remind her she wasn’t alone in carrying the world. “I’ve always worried about you,” he murmured, tone heavy with unspoken feelings. “Even when you pretend that everything is under control. I can feel when it’s not. And… I can’t ignore it.”

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly, a tremor passing through her hands. The tension Halsin’s presence had created all day, the whisper of engagement, the careful balance of courtly duty — it all collided in that moment. And yet, standing here with Gale, the one who had kissed her beneath the moonlight, the one who had always known her, she felt a dangerous spark of relief.

“You’re right,” she whispered, voice tight. “I’ve been… trying too hard.”

Gale allowed a small, private smile to tug at his lips, but his eyes held intensity. “Then let me help you,” he said, softly, firmly, and though the words were simple, they carried the weight of months of longing, the memory of the garden, and the unspoken promise of more. Before the moment could stretch any further, a smooth, calm voice interrupted. “Gale,” Halsin said, stepping closer, courteous but with an edge of authority. “Your advice is invaluable, but don’t forget why you’ve returned. The council awaits, and we have much to discuss — the city’s safety, trade, and protocol. Y/N has already been balanced enough today.”

Gale’s gaze flicked to Halsin, tension coiling like a spring in his chest. The reminder was polite, measured, almost diplomatic — yet beneath the calm exterior, it was a clear statement: this is my place too. Gale’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to nod, the weight of restraint heavy over desire. Halsin’s presence was a constant, polite shadow over every thought of Y/N, a reminder of the reality he now had to navigate. Y/N glanced between them, a subtle flicker of apology in her eyes. Gale caught it and, for a brief moment, the private world they had almost shared slipped through their fingers, swallowed by the demands of court and politics.

Even as the council session began, Gale’s mind replayed the moment on an endless loop: the whispered announcement, Halsin’s steady attentiveness, Y/N’s delicate composure hiding strain, and the subtle tension that had hung between them. He realized, with sharp clarity, that the battle for her attention, for her heart, wasn’t just emotional anymore — it was now entwined with politics, duty, and the careful maneuvers of court. And yet, the pull between them — the memory of the garden, the intimacy of the kiss, the quiet moments he had shared with her before — remained. It refused to be ignored, no matter how many reminders Halsin offered.

The slow burn had become a wildfire, and Gale knew that every glance, every word, every touch from now on would be heavily watched and guarded. 

Break -  Y/N’s Pov 

The council chamber was quiet but alive with the low murmur of parchment and the faint hum of wards beneath the stone floors. You sat at the center of it all, hands folded over maps and ledgers, spine straight, expression carefully composed. It was a posture you had learned well — calm worn like armor, steady enough to withstand scrutiny.

It held well; Until Gale entered the hall.

The armor thinned instantly, as though it had been fashioned from paper instead of steel. You felt it before you saw him — the subtle shift in the air, the way your chest stuttered without permission. He moved with that same careful grace, steps quiet, presence unmistakable. His eyes swept the room once, twice — and then found you.

The recognition was immediate. Unforgiving.

You had not expected him to return so soon. Had not expected the ache of longing to resurface with such force, sharp and uninvited, settling beneath your ribs like something unfinished. Months of distance had done nothing to dull it. If anything, it had only made the absence louder.

Your fingers tightened slightly over the parchment.

Then your gaze shifted — and found Halsin.

Calm. Steady. Polished.

He stood close to you now, a quiet anchor at your side, his presence familiar in a way that had grown slowly over weeks of shared responsibility. He spoke softly with one of the advisors, voice measured, reassuring. Duty made manifest. He was meant to be here — meant to remind you of balance, of stability, of the weight you carried and the support the realm required you to accept.

You had learned to rely on that steadiness.

And yet.

Your chest fluttered traitorously as your eyes drifted back to Gale. The contrast was impossible to ignore. Where Halsin grounded, Gale unsettled. Where Halsin soothed, Gale ignited something restless and dangerous beneath your careful composure.

A quiet rebellion stirred, unbidden and persistent.

Gale belongs here.

The thought startled you with its clarity.

He belongs with me.

You swallowed, forcing your attention back to the council proceedings, to the maps and numbers and responsibilities laid out before you. This was not the time. Not the place. You could not afford longing — not now, not with so much at stake.

And yet, even as you listened, even as you nodded and responded when required, you felt the weight of his presence pressing against the space he had once occupied so naturally at your side.

She should have looked away.

You felt the moment slipping, felt it in the way Gale’s attention sharpened — not polite, not distant, but focused entirely on yourself. The council chamber faded at the edges, voices blurring into an indistinct murmur as his presence pressed closer, warm and unyielding.

“You’re holding yourself too tightly,” Gale said quietly.

The words landed with unnerving precision.

You felt your breath caught before you could stop it. Forced a small, polite smile — the one she used when she needed to appear untroubled — but her eyes betrayed her anyway. Guilt flickered there, then surprise, and beneath it all, something far more dangerous. Longing.

She knew, in that instant, that she could not deny him.

Not Gale.

Not when he had always seen her so clearly, when he read the tension in her shoulders and the careful restraint in her voice like a second language.

“You always know how to see through me,” you admitted softly, the truth slipping out before you could dress it in something safer.

His concern deepened, and that was when fear joined the longing in her chest.

If he keeps looking at me like this… he’s going to know.

“I’ve always worried about you,” Gale murmured. His voice carried the weight of months apart, of words left unsaid. “Even when you pretend everything is under control. I can feel when it’s not. And… I can’t ignore it.”

Your hands trembled before you could still them, fingers tightening against the edge of the table. The careful balance she had maintained all day cracked. The whispers you had overheard, the engagement sealed in wax, the expectations pressing down on her — all of it surged forward at once.

And yet, standing here with Gale — the one who had kissed you beneath moonlight, the one who had known her before duty demanded so much — suddenly felt a dangerous spark of relief.

As though part of you wanted him to see.

“You’re right,” you whispered, voice tight. “I’ve been… trying too hard.”

For a moment, his expression softened, just enough to make your chest ache. The smallest smile touched his lips, but his eyes stayed intense, searching her face as if memorizing it.

“Then let me help you,” he said quietly. “Always.”

The words struck deeper than she was prepared for. They carried memory and promise and the unbearable pull of what might have been. For one reckless heartbeat, you almost leaned into him — almost let herself forget everything else.

Almost.

“Gale.”

Halsin’s voice cut cleanly through the moment.

You turn, heart jolting painfully back into reality as Halsin stepped closer. His expression was calm, courteous, his tone measured — but there was something firm beneath it, something unmistakably territorial.

“Your advice is invaluable,” Halsin said evenly, “but don’t forget why you’ve returned. The council awaits, and we have much to discuss — the city’s safety, trade, and protocol. Y/N has already been balanced enough today.”

The words were gentle.

They felt anything but.

You can feel the space between you and Gale shift — not physically, but undeniably. Halsin’s presence settled beside you like a boundary you had helped draw, a reminder of vows made and responsibilities accepted.

Gale’s gaze flicked to Halsin, tension tightening visibly in his posture before he forced himself to nod. Restraint pulled him back, heavy and reluctant.

She watched it happen, guilt twisting sharply in her chest.

When your eyes met Gale’s again, you let the apology show — brief, unspoken, meant only for him. He caught it immediately.

And in that instant, you knew.

He knows.

And it broke you.

Because the truth was written too clearly in both of your faces. The private world they had nearly reclaimed had slipped through her fingers, swallowed once more by duty, expectation, and the engagement she could no longer pretend didn’t exist.

-Current Day-

The palace days are long, and your duties never truly end. Council meetings bleed into spellwork, which slides into training sessions and ward inspections. The weight of responsibility presses against your shoulders like iron chains, and yet in the middle of it all, Halsin is quietly present. Not commanding, not overbearing, just watching, listening, and steady.

You notice the little things first. The way he catches your hand as you stumble over a loose step in the council hall, how he observes the strain in your posture without comment, and how he always seems to sense when you need a quiet word or a break.

“You’ve been pushing yourself too hard,” he says one afternoon, as you linger over a pile of maps and ledgers, eyes tired from calculations and plans. “Even the strongest need to pause. You won’t accomplish more by wearing yourself down.”

You glance at him, heart tightening at the calm reassurance in his voice. “I… I just want to make sure everything is perfect,” you murmur, frustration coloring your tone.

“Perfection is a lie,” Halsin says softly. “Balance is what you should aim for. And you, Y/N, are more than capable. But even the capable must rest.”

The words wrap around you, grounding and soothing, and you feel a pull toward him — admiration, trust, something deeper, steadier than the storm of emotions Gale ignites in you.

And yet, Gale is always there, in your thoughts. His unexpected appearances in the council chambers, the heat in his gaze, the quiet intensity when he speaks to you. With him, your pulse races; with Halsin, it steadies. Both feelings exist in your chest, tangled and complicated.

One evening, after a particularly grueling session of ward management, Halsin walks with you through the palace gardens, the sun casting long golden shadows over the marble paths. He does not speak at first, letting the silence settle around you both. Finally, he says, “You’ve been quieter than usual. Carrying too much, perhaps?”

You bite your lip, hesitation prickling in your chest. “I… I don’t know,” you admit, looking away. “Everything feels… tangled.”

He nods, slow, patient. “It’s a lot to manage — the court, the council, the expectations. You carry more than most would.”

And yet, it’s not just the weight of duty that presses on you. It’s the thought of Gale, of the way your chest still tightens when he’s near, the memory of the garden, the stolen glance, the warmth of his hand. But now, standing beside Halsin, there’s another pull, quieter, steadier, a comfort that makes your heart beat differently.

You glance at him, unsure. “It’s… confusing,” you confess softly. “I care about someone else… but then there’s you, and—” Your voice falters.

Halsin’s expression softens, eyes thoughtful. “You feel loyalty, friendship, admiration… perhaps more,” he says carefully, as if treading on fragile ground. “It doesn’t make one feel less than another. Feelings are not always convenient, nor are they always simple.” Halsin’s expression softens. “Feelings are rarely simple,” he says. “You may care for more than one person, each in a different way. That doesn’t make either feeling wrong, only complicated if you make it complicated.  You do not have to resolve it all at once.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words settling into the deepest parts of you. For the first time, you allow yourself to acknowledge both the fire for Gale and the warmth for Halsin. You let yourself feel both, without shame, without guilt, without fear of judgment.

Days pass like this, small moments building up: Halsin offering guidance in court, reminding you to take a break, standing silently by your side during tense negotiations. Gale’s presence in contrast — fiery, magnetic, unpredictable — makes your chest ache with longing. You realize the depth of your feelings for both, but in different ways: one steady and comforting, the other passionate and consuming.

Late one night, after hours of planning and council work, you find yourself wandering the gardens again, Halsin following quietly. The moon is high, silvering the leaves and glinting in the fountain’s waters. You stop at its edge, drawing a deep breath.

“I… I need to tell you something,” you begin, voice trembling but firm. “I think… I’m starting to feel something for you. It’s… steady, reassuring, and I can’t ignore it. But-”

Halsin steps closer, hand brushing gently along your shoulder. “You are human,” he says softly. “And the heart does not always follow simple rules. And your feelings for me do not diminish one another. They are what they are, and you must allow yourself to feel them fully before you make any decisions.”

You nod, tears welling in your eyes, chest tight with conflicting emotions. “It’s… so much to carry,” you whisper. “I don’t know how to balance it all, how to keep from hurting anyone.”

Halsin shakes his head gently, eyes kind. “Balance does not mean perfection, Y/N. It means surviving while remaining true to yourself. Do not carry the weight of their hearts. Only your own. That is enough for now.”

The night grows quiet, the palace fading behind you. You take a deep breath, letting your heart pulse with the truth: Gale is where your desire burns, Halsin is where your trust and admiration root, and both are part of who you are.

And you’re still scared. Maybe it's time to let go.

The palace does not erupt into crisis all at once.

It fractures quietly at first; through glances held too long, doors closed a little too firmly, guards reassigned without explanation. You feel it before anyone names it, a tightening beneath the polished routines of court life, like a breath held for too long.

By the third day since the southern delegates halted the trade corridor, the rumors begin.

At first, they are small. Servants whisper that caravans have gone missing. A scribe mentions, too casually, that the druidic factions are “unhappy.” A junior councilor avoids your gaze entirely during a briefing.

Halsin notices everything.

He does not comment on the rumors at first; he only adjusts to ensure that everything falls into place. He walks closer to you in the halls, positions himself subtly between you and strangers, and speaks less in public but more in private. Where others react with agitation, he becomes still.

It unsettles you how much you rely on that steadiness.

“You should not walk alone today,” he says one morning as you prepare to leave your chambers.

“I haven’t in weeks,” you reply lightly.

His gaze sharpens. “Today especially.”

You hesitate, then nod. Not wanting to put up a fight. 

The council chamber is tense when you arrive. Delegates argue in tight circles, voices clipped, tempers fraying. The issue is no longer just trade; it is authority. The southern faction has rejected inspection outright, claiming “religious sovereignty” under old accords.

“They are daring us to respond,” one councilor snaps.

“And if we do?” another counters. “We turn this into a war of legitimacy.”

You raise a hand, quieting the room. “We do not escalate,” you say evenly. “We document. We isolate. We make it impossible for them to claim innocence.”

Some nod. Others bristle.

When the session ends, you feel the eyes on you as you stand — assessing, weighing, deciding whether you are liability or leverage.

You do not miss the way a few whispers follow you into the corridor.

Halsin walks beside you, his presence grounding. “They are afraid,” he murmurs. “Fear breeds rumor.”

“And knives,” you say quietly.

He does not deny it.

The attack does not come when you expect it.

It happens at dusk, as the palace shifts into evening rhythms — guards rotating, courtiers retreating to private dinners, the halls briefly less crowded.

You are crossing the western gallery with Halsin, discussing the next day’s negotiations, when the wards flicker.

It is subtle — a ripple through the air, like heat distortion. Halsin feels it at the same moment you do.

“Down,” he says sharply.

You barely have time to react before he grips your arm and pulls you hard against the wall. Something whistles past where your head had been — fast, silent, deadly.

A bolt embeds itself in the stone behind you.

For a heartbeat, the world freezes.

Then chaos erupts.

Guards shout. Steel rings. Halsin moves in front of you fully now, one hand braced against the wall near your shoulder, the other already glowing faintly with druidic magic.

“Stay behind me,” he orders.

Another projectile comes — this one deflected midair by a burst of force as Halsin snaps his hand forward. The impact rattles the gallery, sending shards of stone skittering across the floor.

The attacker never reaches you.

They are caught trying to flee through a servant’s passage — subdued, restrained, alive.

Barely.

When it is over, your hands are shaking.

Not from fear — from the sudden, bone-deep understanding that this is no longer theoretical. Someone wanted you dead.

Halsin does not let go of you until you are safely inside a guarded chamber.

“You’re hurt,” you say hoarsely, noticing the tear in his sleeve, the thin line of blood along his forearm.

“It’s nothing,” he replies, though he allows you to guide him to a chair.

You tear fabric for a bandage with unsteady fingers. “You threw yourself in front of me.”

“Yes.”

“That wasn’t—”

“Debatable?” he finishes quietly. “I disagree.”

The room is silent except for your breathing.

“Who?” you ask.

“Not acting alone,” he says. “And not impulsive. That was planned.”

The implication hangs heavy between you.

By morning, the palace is buzzing.

The attempt is officially framed as an “isolated extremist action,” but no one believes that. The whispers turn sharper, more dangerous.

Some say the southern faction sanctioned it. Others suggest internal dissent — that you are being punished for refusing escalation. A few, more venomous voices, murmur that perhaps the council would be safer without you.

And then the rumors shift.

They start mentioning Halsin.

How often is he seen at your side? How he speaks for you in council. How he escorted you personally after the attack.

“You’re being protected by a druid,” one noble remarks too loudly. “Interesting choice.”

Another smiles thinly. “Or perhaps the druid is the one pulling the strings.”

You hear it all.

Halsin hears more.

He confronts you that evening, not with anger, but concern.

“This is becoming dangerous,” he says. “Not just physically. Politically as well. I worry for you.”

“I won’t distance myself from you because of gossip,” you reply.

“I know,” he says softly. “But they will weaponize perception. They always do.”

You exhale slowly. “So what do we do?”

He considers. “We remain transparent. Visible. Yet still keep it professional.”

There is a pause.

“And?” you prompt.

“And we are careful,” he adds. “Because proximity invites interpretation.”

The words sting more than you expect.

That night, sleep refuses to come.

You lie awake replaying the bolt embedding itself in stone, the sound of Halsin’s voice cutting through the moment, the warmth of his hand steadying you afterward.

By dawn, a decision settles in your chest — quiet, resolute.

You will not be afraid.

The next few days are a test of endurance.

You attend councils flanked by guards, your movements carefully planned. You speak with measured authority, refusing to retreat or overcompensate. Halsin remains at your side, a constant presence — calm, attentive, never possessive.

The rumors grow anyway.

They twist his concern into influence, his protection into manipulation. You hear one delegate suggest you are being “guided.” Another wonders aloud if the druids intend to claim political ground through you.

You shut that down publicly.

“If anyone questions my authority,” you say coolly during a session, “they may address me directly. Not my allies. Not my advisors. Me.”

The room goes silent.

Later, Halsin finds you alone in the garden.

The lanterns glow low among the trees, their light soft and unintrusive, as if even the palace is afraid to intrude on your thoughts. You stand in the gazebo, near the fountain, hands braced against cool stone, breathing slowly as if each breath must be chosen.

“That was risky,” Halsin says quietly from behind you.

You don’t turn. “So was trying to kill me.”

For a moment, there is only the sound of water and night insects. Then a faint, tired smile enters his voice. “Fair.”

He comes to stand beside you, not too close, not too far. The space he leaves feels intentional — respectful. It almost hurts.

You begin walking without looking at him, following the familiar path beneath the trees. Gravel crunches softly underfoot. The palace noise fades with each step, until it feels like the world has narrowed to just the two of you and the weight sitting in your chest.

For the first time since the attack, your shoulders sag.

“I don’t regret this,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “Your presence. Whatever they say about it.”

Halsin stops.

The sudden absence of his footsteps makes you turn.

“You should,” he says gently. Not unkindly. Not accusingly. Just honest. “It would make things simpler. For you.”

You let out a breath that’s almost a laugh, sharp and brittle. “I don’t want simple,” you say. Then, more quietly, “I don’t think I can survive on simple.”

Something in your voice breaks the careful distance he’s been keeping.

“You don’t need me here,” he says, softer now. “You could ask me to step back. I would.”

The words hit harder than you expect.

“I know,” you say. Your throat tightens. “That’s the problem.”

You turn away again, hands curling into fists at your sides. “Everyone keeps deciding what’s best for me. The council. The factions. The people who thought putting a blade through my skull would solve their problems.” Your voice trembles despite your effort to steady it. “I don’t need another person choosing for me.”

Halsin doesn’t interrupt. He never does.

“I don’t want you here,” you say, the words tasting like a lie even as you force them out. “I don’t need the rumors. I don’t need the complications. I don’t need—”

Your voice falters.

“I’m so tired,” you whisper.

The silence that follows is heavy, pressing in around your ribs.

Halsin steps closer — slowly, as if giving you every chance to pull away. When he speaks, his voice is low, grounding. “Then don’t be strong right now.”

You swallow hard, the dam cracking. “I don’t know how to do this alone anymore.”

That’s when you turn to him.

Your eyes are bright, your composure fractured beyond repair. You look at him not as a ruler, not as a negotiator, not as a symbol, but as a man who has seen you at your most vulnerable and stayed anyway.

“I don’t need you to fix this,” you say, almost pleading. “I don’t need you to stay. I just—” Your breath shudders. “Gods, Halsin, I just need to feel like I’m not going to break.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

His hands come up gently, cupping your face with reverence, thumbs warm against your skin. He waits, eyes searching yours, asking permission without words.

You answer by leaning into him.

The kiss is not careful.

It’s soft, yes, but it’s also desperate, grounding, like grabbing onto something solid in the middle of a storm. Your lips press against his with a quiet urgency, as if you’re asking him to anchor you to the present, to your own body, to something real.

Halsin exhales against your mouth, a low sound that vibrates through you, and kisses you back steady, unhurried, as though he’s trying to pour calm into you through sheer will. His hands remain gentle, firm at your jaw, his presence surrounding rather than consuming.

When you finally pull back, your forehead rests against his.

“I- I’m sorry, Halsin, I didn’t mean for that to happen,” you whisper.

“I know,” he murmurs. “And yet… it did,” he chuckles, hoisting you up like you weigh nothing, placing you down on the cool marble bench, “I know it’s not your usual decorum, but we have no time for removing clothes, as much as I would love to rip them off of you, if you don’t mind.” Halsin growls. He hoists your leg straight in the air with one large hand  (“have his hands always been this big?”  You thought to yourself), ankle held between his proud fingers. Then, with the other hand, he yanks both yours and his underwear up and off in one swift movement. Pre cum already dripping from his cock. 

You gasp and have little time to process before you realize that Halsin is on top of you, your legs are now wrapped around his waist as he aligns himself, pumping his cock using the pre cum, then rubs whatever is left on your hole. “Now, my little fawn,” He instructs, as he slowly starts to prod your tight, wet entrance with his massive cockhead “I need you to breathe deeply for me, and try not to wake anyone up.” He coos, a little hesitant to use the term of endearment. As he slowly started inserting his cock into Y/N, they both moaned. As you try to find your grip by grabbing onto Halsin’s forearm and the bench. Just the two of you against the whole world. Halsin moved his hips back and pressed forward again. Starting in a slow, steady rhythm. It feels magical and absolutely perfect. As you slowly feel a tightness in your stomach, you manage to grab onto the back of his head and pull him in for a deep kiss. 

Tongues melding, gasping breaths, hearts both racing. Everywhere they seemed to touch seemed to leave a burning trail across both of you. But even then, it doesn't feel like it is enough. His hips speed up, as the slapping of your tight womb, He knew that he was close to the finish line. You seem to notice this, and with a grin, you whisper in his ear, “Just lose control, Halsin, please. It’s alright.” 

And that does it. 

As Halsin’s hold on your hips tightens in an affectionate squeeze before lifting your legs even higher, folding you into a half mating press, driving into you deep. Swallowing your cries with his own lips. With every knock of his hips against your own, mixed with the squelching of your pussy sucking him in. You were on fire in the best of ways. 

Soon enough, your clit was met with the unexpected pressure of Halsin’s fingertips. That breath you have been holding onto was almost immediately followed by a cry of his name and drool from the kiss, igniting the stimulation to your greedy cunt to clench and pulse around him. Your vision goes white as Halsin reaches his own climax, while ropes of creamy seed deep into your pussy. 

—

Brows knitting together, you squirm and struggle to sit up, watching as Halsin grabs a washcloth from his bag, walks over to the fountain, and gently wipes the sweat from your brow and the slick from your inner thighs, brushing your hair away from your face. “Shh, shh. Just sit still for a moment longer, alright? Let me get you cleaned up.” There’s a soft stillness between the two of you, before the silence breaks. “How are you feeling now?” he asked softly. “I hope I didn't overwhelm you too much.” You giggle, “I’m... I’m ok being overwhelmed if it's like that,” you tell him breathlessly. 

He laughs, “I’ll make sure to add more of this during our time together.” He sighed and winked. 

-Flashback-

Time had a strange way of folding in the palace. Weeks became months, and yet some nights; the quiet ones in particular, the rare moments when the court slept felt suspended, as if Candlekeep and its moonlit observatory were still just a heartbeat away.

Gale had been summoned to your court some months after your return from Candlekeep. Officially, he was here to advise on arcane matters: warding, treaty negotiations, and magical threats to the crown. Unofficially, you suspected neither of you could ignore the pull that had begun to stir beneath polite conversation and careful councils.

The first weeks were a study in restraint. Every meeting, every exchange of papers or glances, was a battle. He sat beside you at council tables, his dark eyes following your every gesture, correcting sigils you’d only half-finished, debating spells that might protect the palace from invisible threats. You respected his knowledge, valued his insight — but the familiarity, the intimacy, and the lingering echoes of that night in the palace garden made every interaction a careful dance.

“You shouldn’t be standing so close to the ward glyph,” he murmured one afternoon, leaning over a rolled parchment. “A misstep could… well. You know.” You glanced up at him, lips twitching in amusement. “Do I? Or are you simply concerned for me?” His eyes held yours for a heartbeat longer than necessary. “A little of both,” he admitted, voice low. You suppressed a sigh, though your heart raced. He was impossible, infuriating, and impossibly magnetic — and now, he was working within arm’s reach every day.

The court was its own battlefield. Alliances formed and shifted with whispered words, nobles calculated every glance, and diplomats smiled while plotting. Amidst it all, you had to project strength: the heir, the leader, the battlemage who could hold a sword and channel a spell with equal ease. Gale moved within this world with uncanny ease. He knew the language of nobles, of magic, of quiet influence. And yet, around you, he became… human. Vulnerable, earnest, aware of the tension he could no longer ignore.

One evening, after hours spent drafting protective wards around the city gates, he lingered behind as you walked back to your chambers. “You’re late,” you said lightly, trying to keep the edge of fatigue from your voice. “I was making sure nothing destabilized during the enchantments,” he said, but his tone was softer than his words. “I should have called it a night.”You glanced at him, noting the faint shadow beneath his eyes, the way he exhaled slowly as if the effort of restraint was exhausting him. “Gale…” you began, but paused. The court demanded professionalism. The city demanded attention. And yet, there was that other pull — the one that had begun months ago, moonlit and quiet. “I’m aware,” he said before you could finish. “And yet… I can’t leave this unsaid.” You stopped in the hall, eyes meeting his. For a heartbeat, the world contracted to the space between you. “I…” you started, then let the words fall away. The truth was dangerous. Forbidden. Beautiful. And neither of you was ready. Instead, you nodded once, lightly. “We’ll talk… later.” He studied you, lips parted, the faintest shadow of longing in his eyes. “Later,” he agreed, though the word sounded like a promise — one neither of you could yet fulfill.

During these weeks, memory bled through — Candlekeep’s quiet nights, the observatory, the first shared arguments about magic, the moonlit gardens. Each recollection made restraint harder, each shared moment in court sharper. Every corrected sigil, every hushed warning, every accidental brush of hands carried weight. You both knew that the court was not a place for indulgence, yet the pull between you simmered, undeniable.

The stakes were high for the crown, for the city, for the fragile peace that held the realm together. But beneath all that duty, both of you were learning to navigate something far more dangerous: the desire to reach for each other when every rule demanded restraint. And in the quiet moments — when courtiers’ laughter faded, and candlelight flickered low — you each wondered how long you could wait.

- Timeskip -

The palace was alive with music, laughter, and the glow of countless candles. Tonight was a celebration — an official acknowledgment of your leadership, your victories, and the delicate balance you had maintained between crown and court. You moved through the ballroom with a practiced smile, acknowledging nobles and emissaries, but Gale noticed a subtle shift in your posture, a faint tension in your shoulders, a slight pause in your movements. Even from across the room, he could tell: you needed air.

When your gaze drifted toward the balcony doors, he moved before you could speak, stepping to your side. “You need a moment,” he said quietly, voice low, almost conspiratorial. “The palace can wait. Come with me.” You hesitated, aware of the courtly eyes that might notice, but the pull in his tone — concern, attentiveness, patience — was irresistible. You nodded, letting him guide you through the heavy wooden doors into the night.

The garden greeted you like a breath of cool night air. Marble paths gleamed in the moonlight, fountains sparkled like liquid silver, and the scent of roses and jasmine clung to the warm breeze. Every detail was vivid; yet, for Gale, nothing mattered except you. He saw the faint relaxation in your shoulders, the way your hands hovered over the fountain’s edge as though grounding yourself, and he realized just how much he wanted to keep you safe, keep you calm, keep you.

Your dress shimmered under the moonlight — midnight blue silk that rippled with each step, delicate but strong, just like you. He couldn’t stop himself from noticing the way the neckline caught the soft glow, the pendant at your throat, the subtle elegance that made you radiant without effort.

“I needed a moment to breathe,” you murmured, letting your hands rest lightly on the fountain’s edge.

“You always notice everything,” he said softly, stepping closer. “Even when you think you’re hiding it.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “I suppose the observatory taught you to read more than runes.”

He smiled faintly, dark eyes lingering on you. “I read people better than any spell,” he admitted, voice low. “And you… You needed air.”

The statement hung between you, intimate and undeniable. For a moment, you didn’t answer, letting the silence and the moonlight carry the weight of unspoken words.

Then he offered his arm, and you accepted. The brush of his sleeve against yours quickened your pulse. Together, you wandered along the marble paths, the tension between you unspoken but electric. Every step, every shared glance, every accidental contact was a reminder of months of restraint, of longing held back in Candlekeep, in councils, and in quiet observatories.

Finally, you stopped beneath a canopy of flowering vines, the pale petals glowing in the moonlight. He stood close, warm and steady, and his gaze traced your face with a careful reverence.

“I can’t pretend this… tension doesn’t exist anymore,” he admitted, voice low. “Not with you. Not tonight.”

Your breath caught. Words about duty, crown, and restraint threatened to spill, but the pull between you was too strong.

Instead, you let your eyes meet his, and the world outside the garden — the court, the music, the celebration; it all just fell away.

He stepped closer, the faint scent of jasmine and the night air mingling with the subtle warmth of his robes. Your heart hammered, a frantic rhythm against the quiet of the moonlit garden.

“I’ve tried to respect your position,” he whispered, voice low, intimate. “I tried to wait. I tried to be patient.”

“And yet,” you whispered back, almost trembling, “you didn’t wait.”

Gale’s eyes darkened with something deeper than admiration — desire tempered with reverence. He let his hand hover near your face for a heartbeat, giving you space to retreat. You didn’t. Instead, you leaned slightly into him, as if answering the silent question lingering in his gaze.

Then he closed the distance. His lips brushed yours lightly at first, almost a whisper of touch. The moment was delicate, tentative — testing boundaries, asking permission without words.

You responded, leaning in, letting your lips mold against his. The world narrowed to the sound of your own breath, the faint trickle of the fountain beside you, the warmth radiating from him. Every careful restraint of months, every stolen glance and brush of hands, coalesced in this single, suspended moment.

The kiss deepened naturally, slow and deliberate. Gale’s hands found your waist, holding you close without pressing, grounding you while letting you feel free. Your fingers traced the line of his shoulders, memorizing the warmth, the steadiness beneath the fabric of his robes.

Magic seemed to hum faintly around you, the air charged with the faint pulse that always accompanied your presence. He could feel it, subtle but insistent, intertwining with the heat of the kiss, making it feel otherworldly yet intimate.

Gale’s lips moved with care, conveying months of unspoken words: respect, admiration, longing. You returned it, pouring into him everything you hadn’t allowed yourself to express in Candlekeep, in observatories, in council chambers.

Time stretched. Minutes could have been hours. You rested your forehead against his when the kiss softened, breathing mingling, hearts racing in unison.

“You’re… incredible,” he murmured against your lips, voice rough with emotion. “I’ve never… felt anything like this.”

You smiled softly, letting your hands linger on his chest. “Neither have I,” you admitted. “And yet… here we are.”

You could have sworn you heard Gale growl as he pulled you in for another kiss; this time, it was filled with this hunger he couldn't satisfy. As he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, he pins you to the closest wall, separating from the kiss to begin nipping and biting at your neck. 

Gale pressed his forehead to yours again, eyes closed, savoring the quiet after the storm. “We should probably return,” he whispered reluctantly, the weight of court and duty intruding.

“Yes,” you agreed softly, though neither of you truly wanted to move. “Duty calls.”

He allowed a small, intimate smile to tug at his lips. “And yet,” he murmured, a promise threading through the words, “I’ll find another moment. Soon.” As he placed another kiss on your forehead. 

As you both walked back to the ballroom, side by side, the memory of the kiss, soft, reverent, and fierce all at once, lingered, a tether connecting you no matter the rules, the duties, or the courtly expectations.

Candlekeep smelled of ink, old stone, and the faint crackle of contained magic. You remember thinking, distantly, that it felt alive – not like a building, but more so like a mind. Vast. Watchful. Curious. Beautiful. 

You were twenty-six, freshly arrived as royal envoy under the polite fiction of “advanced study,” and already painfully aware of every whisper that followed you through the halls. 

The human heir. 

The one who fights. 

Too young to carry that much power. 

You always ignored them. 

The reading chamber was nearly empty when you entered, sunlight slanting through high windows and catching motes of dust in the air. Shelves towered overhead, stacked with spell tomes you had only ever heard named in passing. You crossed the stone floor with measured steps, books tucked beneath your arm as your mind reels from the ward theory you’d been assigned to review.

However; you didn’t expect the company. 

“Excuse me.” 

The voice was precise. Cultured. Annoyingly confident. 

You turned to find someone half-hidden behind a lectern, dark hair falling into clever eyes, robes marked with sigils of senior study. He looked young – only a few years older than you; yet carried himself like someone used to being listened to. “Yes?” you said. “You’re sitting in my place.”

You glance around. Then back at him. “I don’t see your name carved into the stone.” You can see a corner of his mouth twitched. “If it were, I’d never get any work done.” You raised a brow. “Then perhaps you should choose a less public throne.” 

A pause. Then; much to your irritation, he smiled. “Gale Dekarios,” he said, inclining his head just enough to be polite without being deferential. “And you are…not from here.” 

“Is it that obvious?”  “Painfully.”

You sat down anyway as he watched you for a moment longer, gaze sharp as he assessed you “You hold your staff like a weapon,” he observed. “Most grip theirs like a crutch you kn-.” You interrupt him “I’ve found it useful to know the difference.” That earned you a soft huff of laughter. “Ah. You’re that kind of mage.” You nod, completely ignoring the fact that he is now leaned in closer. “I prefer battlemage,” you said evenly. “But yes, you are correct.” He blinked, just once. The surprise on his face quickly became masked. “A human battlemage,” he said. “At Candlekeep?” You lean back in your chair, sighing as you turn to face him. “Is that meant to discourage me?” “No,” he admitted. “Mearely to intrigue.” 

It is now your turn to study him – the ink-smudged fingers, the faint magical hum around him like a restrained storm. You can tell he’s smart. Brilliant even, but careless with his confidence. Making him dangerous in a quieter way than most. 

“Then consider yourself intrigued,” you said, setting down a book and opening it to the right chapter needed. “And find another chair.” 

—-- break —- 

You did not become friends immediately. The two of you argued. Constantly and about everything. Spell theory, ethics, the cost of true power, and whether magic existed to be mastered or respected. 

Gale was brilliant – infuriatingly so. He spoke of the Weave like a lover who had never been told no. You on the other hand countered with hard-earned discipline, stories of battlefields and scars he could not refute. 

“You treat magic like a blade,” Gale accused one evening, frustration finally bleeding through his careful composure. “Something to be sheathed, drawn, controlled. As it exists only to be used.” You closed the book in front of you, slower than necessary. Candlelight flickered across the margins, catching scars along your knuckles you rarely noticed anymore. “And you treat it like a god,” you shot back. “Please indulge me in which one bleeds first, the god or the animal?” 

He stared at you, jaw tightened before he spoke “The Weave is not a wild animal.”

“No,” you agreed quietly. “It’s worse.” 

He blinked. “Worse?”

You leaned back, gaze drifting towards the high windows – not looking at Candlekeep now, but somewhere just out of reach. “I watched a battlemage lose control when I was twenty-two,” you said. “Not an apprentice. A decorated officer of my court. He reached far too much power too fast, and the Weave answered him…imperfectly.” 

Gale didn’t interrupt. 

“The spell that was casted didn’t just fail. It folded. Burned half a company alive. My father and the rest of the company spent hours digging survivors out of glassed earth. He didn’t realize I watched from the sidelines tending to the wounded.” Silence settled between you both like an unwanted guest. “I don’t fear magic,” you said at last. “What I fear most is arrogance. I fear forgetting that power takes payment – even when you don’t know the cost upfront.”  

Gale looked at you differently now. Less amused, and certainly less defensive. 

“You’ve seen war,” he said. 

“I helped and fought in it.” 

Suddenly, almost like the Weave had plans for you both, his mind shifted from seeing you as an annoying princess, to one who should be respected. 

As Gale exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair he spoke softly. “I’ve spent my life trying to understand how much magic I can take without breaking,” he admitted. “I never thought much about who else might break with me.” 

You chuckle, “Maybe that’s why we argue so much about this.”

A pause, then a chuckle from him “....And maybe that’s why I think I’m better for it.” 

For a while, neither of you spoke. Candlekeep had a way of pressing silence into something heavy – the kind that wasn’t awkward, but thoughtful. As the candle burned lower, somewhere in the stacks, a page turned. Life went on. Gale broke the quiet first, his voice softer than before. “You know, you make it difficult to argue with you.” You glanced up. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” “It is,” he said. “Inconveniently so.”  The corners of your mouth curved despite yourself. 

He gathered his notes, slower than usual as his eyes lingered on the margins you’d corrected earlier. “There’s an observatory above the western wing,” he added, as if the thought had only just occurred to him. “They ley lines run unusually clean through it. I was going…to check my work.” You pause, and recognize the offer for what it truly is, not as an invitation but rather a shared escape. “As fun as that sounds I should return to my chambers,” you said, a slight hesitation in your voice. “Yes. Of course.” He said, before grinning “Unless you’d rather not.” 

A smile formed on your face before you even realized it, you closed your book and stood. “Show me, Gale of Waterdeep” 

—- Break —- 

The stairway was narrow, spiraling upward into cooler air. Your footsteps echoed softly as the noise of the lower halls fell away. By the time you reached the top, Candlekeep felt distant – like a memory rather than a place. 

The observatory was quiet and open, domed ceiling drawn back to reveal the night sky. Stars spilled overhead, bright and sharp, untroubled by the weight of walls or crowns. Gale crossed the room, adjusting a lens with practiced care. “I come here when my thoughts grow.. loud,” he said. You approached the window, resting your hands on the stone ledge. “I walk the battlements for the same reason.” That earned a small smile. For a time, you simply stood together, watching the stars. No lectures, No defenses raised, Just the slow, steady rhythm of shared presence. 

It was then in this stillness, that you both felt a feeling of understanding for one another. 

It felt like heaven.