joie de vivre

Your inner prey instincts shrieked in protest. Yet, as you stared at the attached photo, your throat went dry. With his sharp jawline, striking eyes, and furry burgundy ears poking through his hair, the man was undeniably gorgeous. 

Worse, his profile had a warning listed: Lupine genes present extreme rut cycles. Past cycles managed via pharmaceuticals due to high stamina projections. 

So, he’s never had a partner, you thought. A pent-up predator didn’t bode well, especially not to a bunny. Even so, according to the warning, he had the exact untapped reservoir of energy that you needed to get through your insatiable heats. It certainly didn’t hurt that he was breathtakingly easy on the eyes. 

A sudden, sharp throb low in your belly shattered your hesitation. The early waves of your heat were beginning to roll in, warming your skin and sending a restless twitch through your elongated ears. You didn’t have the luxury of time, especially not to second-guess the man that, admittedly, exacerbated the effects of your impending heat.

Shifting your finger across the touchpad of your laptop, you slammed the Accept Pairing button before the more logical side of your brain could talk you out of it. 

In an instant, the screen flashed with a bold, celebratory notification: MATCH CONFIRMED!

 A soft gasp escaped your lips. He had already accepted. Before your mind could fully process that little fact, a new interface slid into view. 

KnotAlone Chatroom: Valko and You

The text bubble at the bottom of the screen was already bouncing, the three dots doing their usual rhythmic dance before disappearing, replaced by a message that was surprisingly warm for an apex predator. 

Valko Ao: Hello! So glad you accepted the match. To be honest, I was worried my profile statistics would scare people off. 

You blinked at the screen, intrigued. His message was devoid of the growling dominance and arrogance you had come to expect from predator hybrids. Another message came through before you formulated a response. 

Valko Ao: Your profile mentioned needing someone who can match your stamina, right? That works out perfectly. My doctors always insisted that my rut cycles are too intense for a standard pairing, so I’ve just been using suppressants up until now. I’d love to help you through your heat if you’ll have me. When does your cycle start?”

You bit your lip, fingers hovering over the keyboard as a flush crawled up your neck. It was one thing to fill out personal info on a questionnaire, but it was another to openly share with another person.

You: within the next two days at least. Already feeling the warning signs :/

Valko Ao: that’s fine! I can clear my schedule right away.

His easy, accommodating response did wonders for your nerves. Over the next two days, the anticipated dread of your impending heat transformed into something entirely different. Valko texted you constantly, sending jokes, asking about your personal preferences and hobbies, and sharing bits of his own life. By the time the warning signs had become full-blown symptoms, you found that you were genuinely excited to meet him, even if the circumstances weren’t the most ideal.

You woke on the third morning drenched in sweat, your skin hypersensitive to every little touch. Your panties were already soaked and sticking to your swollen folds. It was pitiful, really, how quickly you were made a slave to your own biology, no more able to fight it than you were able to count the stars in the sky. 

With a shaky hand, you reached for your phone on the nightstand, shooting Valko a simple text, followed by your address.

You: I need you

He replied almost instantly, informing you that he was on his way. With a groan, you dropped your phone onto the bed, curling into yourself and wishing you could sleep away the scorching need coursing through your body. It felt like mere minutes had passed when a knock echoed through your apartment.

You stumbled from your bed to the door, unlocking it and swinging it open to see Valko standing in the hallway, his ears twitching almost nervously. Before he could even say hello, he froze. The combination of seeing you in such a vulnerable state and smelling the sweet, heady scent that seeped from your apartment had rendered him speechless, his mouth watering and his cock already hardening in his pants. 

He swallowed thickly. For a fraction of a second, Valko tried to hold onto his manners, but the more of you he inhaled, the more he felt like a wolf rather than a man. He opened his mouth to greet you, fighting every urge to pin you to the wall of the entryway and take you there, but his throat constricted and his body locked up.

You could see in the rigid set of his posture that he was at least trying to be a gentleman, but you didn’t want a gentleman at the moment. You needed him rough, and you needed him now.

While he was still trying to pull himself together in the doorway, you tugged him in by the fabric of his shirt, the door slamming closed behind him. He stumbled forward, his polite composure crumbling to dust under your touch. You practically dragged him through your apartment to your bedroom, and his hand hovered over your waist.

“I’m Valko,” he finally managed, his voice raspy as his eyes locked onto the way you were already pulling your shirt over your head.

You giggled at that, and Valko thought it was the prettiest sound he had ever heard.

“I sure hope so.” He flushed, embarrassment crawling up his spine. Obviously you knew who he was. You wouldn’t have let him in otherwise. He blamed it on your intoxicating scent. It was muddling his brain and making it impossible to focus on anything that wasn’t you. You, who was now wrapping your arms around his shoulders and mouthing at his neck, pressing your body flush against his.

Before he could even think, his strong arms landed on your hips, pushing you back slightly to make space. You pouted, and he suddenly felt like a world-class villain.

“Easy, sweetheart. I’m gonna help you,” he soothed, pushing you backwards until the bed hit the back of your knees. You fell onto the plush on the mattress, bouncing slightly. Your breath quickened. Through the haze of your arousal, you were vaguely aware that you had invited a predator into your home. You were also acutely aware that even the worst of your heat cycles had never affected you as much as the hulking man that was guiding your pliant body to lie against the pillows. 

“So pretty,” he murmured, his hands ghosting over your bare skin, his fingertips skimming the lacy fabric of your bra. It was almost painful, the way his cock was straining against his pants.

You placed your hand atop his, guiding it to cup your breast. “You don’t have to be sweet, you know?”

He locked eyes with you, searching for any hesitation or reservations, and found none, only pure want and need. He surged forward, capturing your lips with his. It was messy, all teeth and tongue and unrestrained instinct.

You arched your body into his, your hips grinding against the bulge in his slacks. He groaned into the kiss, his hands shooting down to hook into the waistband of your shorts and panties, pulling both down in one firm tug. Your bra followed shortly after, leaving you entirely bare beneath him. God, you were a fucking vision.

The whimper he let out was pathetic, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when a pretty little bunny was completely offering herself to him. Your hands were everywhere, sliding beneath his shirt, stroking his ears, palming his leaking cock. Wherever you could reach.

He reluctantly pulled away from you once more, just long enough to strip his own clothing. His impressive build had you salivating, and your weeping pussy clenched around nothing in anticipation as he resumed his spot above you, your legs on either side of his hips. 

“Please, Valko, please I need you,” you practically sobbed, staring up at him with watery eyes. Valko’s heart thundered in his chest, a possessive pang shooting through his chest. 

It was too much. Your desperate pleading, your legs spread for him, your cunt on display just for him. It was maddening. He lined himself up with your pulsing hole, and you keened, eager to finally be filled, pushing your hips up to force him deeper.

You were dripping, his thick cock stretching you with ease as he sunk all the way to the hilt. You moaned loudly, your fingers clawing into the sheets. He was so big you swore you could feel him in your throat.

“So tight,” he groaned deeply, nearly growling. He was already panting and he’d only just begun. “You feel so— ngh—good.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him into you like you never wanted him to leave. “More, Valko, pleasepleaseplease,” you begged, urging him to move, to touch you, anything that would quell the wanton need that radiated from your core. 

His hips snapped into yours, the blunt head of his cock molding your insides around him. It took everything he had not to cum prematurely. Your pussy gripped him like a vice, and he was sure this was as close to heaven as a man could get. 

The delicious drag of his cock had you beyond words, only able to cry out with pleasure every time his hips met yours. Your breath was ragged as he pounded into your slick hole, and your fingernails left red claw marks on his shoulders that he would later marvel at in the mirror.

“So perfect,” Valko breathed. “Made just for me.” His face was flushed a magnificent shade of his red, and his eyes were heavily lidded, drawn to the juncture where your bodies met, your slick leaking around his cock and soaking the bedsheets. 

You cried out his name, the edge of pleasure so tantalizingly close. His name fell from your lips like a mantra, spurring him on, his thrusts losing their rhythm and becoming frantic. He was already swelling at the base, but he’d be damned if he embarrassed himself and finished before you. Inexperienced though he was, he wasn’t a total prude. 

He brought his thumb to circle your neglected clit, sending pleasure shooting up your spine. You squealed, arching into his touch, your pussy spasming tightly around him as your vision went white.

Valko gasped, his own release overtaking him. Hot spurts of cum flooded your fluttering walls, and his swollen knot kept it all plugged snugly inside you and kept you connected to each other. 

Your vision was hazy, and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, you actually felt sated, at least for the time being until your body again demanded more of him.

Quiet settled over the room, save for the twin sounds of your heavy breaths. Valko grinned broadly, a chuckle rumbling through his chest as he dropped his forehead onto yours, nuzzling his nose against your face. Behind him, his heavy tail thumped against the mattress.

It was comforting to be wrapped in such strong arms and taken care of, but the peace was short-lived; your body, in its current state, was already squirming beneath him for friction.

Valko groaned deeply, still sensitive from his release only minutes prior, but the thick smell of your pheromones was pulling him into renewed lust right along with you.

Whether it was with your knees pressed to your chest, from behind where he could watch your cute little tail twitch, or holding you on his lap to fuck up into you, he couldn't get enough of you or the sinful sounds you made when he was buried deep inside you. It was hours before he collapsed onto the bed beside you, his cum dripping down your thighs and a satisfied grin on his face as he took in how thoroughly wrecked you looked all because of him.

As your breathing finally slowed, Valko pulled you into his embrace, clawed fingers stroking up and down your back soothingly. “Are you okay? Was that alright?” he asked, his voice rough and vibrating against your skin.

“I’m perfect,” you rasped, burying your face in his chest, your heart swelling at his genuine care. “Better than perfect. I can see why your profile had a warning on it,” you laughed, recalling the words of caution on his profile.

He let out a soft, pleased sound, his arms tightening around you as if he had absolutely no intention of leaving the bed—or your life—anytime soon. It was like your scent had completely rewired the primitive part of his brain, the part that was now claiming you as his own despite the brief acquaintance. Though, to be fair, you had done more than what typical acquaintances do. He didn't think he could be satisfied being just your heat partner.

A flush crawled up his neck as he debated with himself, his wolf ears twitching nervously, but there was no time like the present. “That’s good. I’m glad I didn't disappoint.” He hesitated, the words he truly wanted to say sticking in his throat. It didn't help that you were looking up at him with wide, inquisitive eyes. Now that his more animalistic side had been satisfied and your scent wasn't sending him into a frenzy, he could take the time to admire just how delicate your features were.

“I know we still have a few days left to get through, and I’m not going anywhere, but when this is over, would you want to go on a proper date with me?”

His words had barely even registered before a bright smile lit up your face, and sweet giggles spilled from your lips. You nodded, your long ears shifting with the movement. 

A sudden glass-like shatter interrupted the calm, immediately followed by the metallic clinking of dropped loot hitting the forest floor. You looked over at the commotion in time to see a hulking figure step out from the brush. It was HowlKo. His massive, muscular frame carried a greatsword like it was nothing more than a feather. He would have been an impressive sight if it weren’t for the way his heavy burgundy tail thrashed behind him the millisecond his golden eyes locked onto your form still kneeling next to the patch of mushrooms you had spent the last hour foraging for.

“Hey, Ko,” you said casually, turning your attention back to your task, continuing to pluck the fungus from the root.

The frantic wagging of his burgundy tail stopped dead, and his golden eyes blinked at you in disbelief, his jaw dropping open. He lowered his greatsword, resting the heavy tip against the dirt.

“‘Hey, Ko?’” he repeated, his voice carrying an offended whine. “Really? That’s it? No ‘Thank you, Ko, for saving me from those goblins’?”

“I do not sound like that,” you protested.

He continued as if he hadn’t heard you. “I defeated the whole mob for you, and all I get is ‘hey?’ Unbelievable.” His fluffy ears pinned back against his hair, pouting. You rolled your eyes, a laugh bubbling in your throat at his antics.

You put on a grandiose voice. “You’re my hero, Ko! How can I ever repay you?”

He pretended to think about it, but he already had a request in mind. “Gimme half of those mushrooms.”

“No way!” you objected, the playful tone dropping instantly into a horrified hiss, clutching your inventory pouch close to your chest. “Do you have any idea how long it took to find these? Find your own!”

“They would have been forfeit if that mob had gotten you, so I could be asking for all of them,” he rebutted.

“That’s assuming I couldn’t handle them myself. Which I totally could have.”

“I have way more attack points than you—“

“And I have more hit points, so what’s your point?”

“Just gimme the mushrooms,” he pleaded. “I’ll trade you half the goblin loot.”

“No deal,” you hummed, popping the last of the mushrooms into your inventory with a victorious chime. “I don't need rusty goblin armor, and I have plenty of gold. I need these for my alchemy level.”

Ko let out a dramatic, exaggerated groan, throwing his head back so hard his fluffy ears flopped pitifully against his hair. He stomped over, his heavy boots rustling the grass, and plopped his massive frame onto the dirt next to you. He didn't even bother to sheath his sword properly, letting it clatter to the side. “You're so mean to me,” he whined, his tail giving a singular sad pat against the earth. He leaned sideways, heavily dropping his shoulder against yours. “I log onto this server every day just to be your personal bodyguard, and you won't even share a few measly mushrooms.”

You laughed, the tip of your sensitive ears twitching at the sudden warmth of his avatar leaning against you. “If you're so starved for attention, why don't you go bother the players in the town square?”

Ko huffed, his golden eyes narrowing as he turned his head to look at you, his tone shifting from whiny to something softer. Tentative, even. “Because they aren't you. Besides, you come over to my cabin all the time to cook and log off. If we’re going to spend hours bickering over digital mushrooms…” he paused, his tail giving a nervous twitch. “...why don't we just do it over actual dinner? In the real world?”

Your smile dropped as the weight of his question settled between you. You looked at him, at the golden eyes staring at you expectantly, the ones you had come to be so familiar with, and felt a pang of guilt in your chest.

“Ko…” you started softly, shifting your weight on the grass. “You know I love spending time with you here, but I don't think I’m comfortable with meeting in person.”

His burgundy ears perked up in a flash of confusion, his head tilting. “Why not?” he asked. “You already know me.”

“I know HowlKo,” you corrected. “But the real world is different. You could be literally anyone behind that avatar, and reality doesn't have the built-in player protections that Whispering Woods does.”

A heavy, stunned silence fell over the clearing. Ko sat frozen. He looked heartbroken, his fluffy tail dropping flat against the dirt with a pathetic thump. He let out a long sigh from behind the mask. “Okay, fair point,” he conceded, his tone shifting to something hopeful once again. He reached up, his large, clawed gloves unlacing the leather straps at the back of his head. “But what if you already know exactly who I am?”

With a soft click of the game’s apparel physics, the wolf snout mask dissolved into light. You blinked, tracking the movement as the pixelated shower of light dissipated. With the mask no longer blocking his features, you could finally see the strikingly sharp jawline, the perfectly sculpted lips, and the flawless symmetry of Chairman Valko—the very man who headed the tech company that had designed the full-dive gear you were currently using.

For a few seconds, all you could do was stare at the newly revealed lower half of his face. Then, a snort escaped you, followed by bright, airy laughter that echoed through the clearing. You leaned back on your hands, shaking your head in amusement.

“Oh my god, Ko, no way,” you giggled, completely missing the pouty expression on his gorgeous features. “A Valko mod? Are you serious? You really customized yourself to look like the EonCore CEO? How much real-world cash did you drop just to roleplay him?”

Ko’s jaw slackened— a handsome jaw, you had to admit, even if it belonged to a counterfeit billionaire. His virtual wolf ears drooped so much they practically disappeared into his hair. “I didn't buy a skin—”

“Sure you didn't,” you laughed, reaching over to pat his ridiculously perfect cheek. “It's a great prank, really. 10 out of 10 for originality.”

“But—” he started again, but you weren't listening, your attention instead taken by the timer you had set popping into view.

“Gotta go, Ko. Have food in the oven. See you tomorrow!” you said cheerfully, logging out before he could respond and leaving him in the clearing to ponder the best way to prove his identity to you.

— — —

When you dived back into the server the next evening, HowlKo was already waiting for you, his wolf mask back in place. He was pacing back and forth, his heavy tail thrashing behind him in a blur of agitation. The moment your avatar materialized, he stormed over.

“I’m gonna prove it to you,” he declared, skipping any sort of greeting.

You raised an eyebrow. “Prove what? That you're a secret billionaire?”

Ko didn’t answer. Instead, he swiped his hand aggressively through the air, summoning a glowing gold developer console that regular players absolutely did not have access to.

He typed in a command, and, with a deafening crash, a veritable mountain of rare items dropped to the ground, more than you’d ever seen in all your time playing the game combined.

“See! Look! Just a few clicks and I can have anything! Other players can’t do that, but I can.”

You gazed in awe upon the assortment of gold, gems, potions, even mythical weapons and armor. “Wow, Ko. You’re a skilled hacker,” you commented, totally missing the way his shoulders slumped in disappointment. “Seriously, though, be careful, or the actual chairman is going to ban your account, and I don't want to lose my favorite foraging partner.”

Ko felt like he was going to scream. What would it take to prove it to you? A small, pathetic whine escaped his throat. “Just…keep the loot,” Ko groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose right above the snout of his mask. He gestured to the fortune surrounding you. “Consider it a gift.”

You immediately took three massive steps backwards, putting as much distance between you and the contraband Ko had summoned. “No way. What if you get me caught for cheating, too?”

“Not how it works. And it’s already here anyway, so just take it.”

You staunchly refused, and Ko stared at you, his fluffy burgundy tail drooping. He looked so defeated that you caved, only a little, and plucked a health potion from the pile. It appeased him, if only a little, a small smile spreading under the mask. “If you really need to get rid of it all, I know this dragon player that would love to take it off your hands.”

Valko hummed, but didn't argue that the items were intended for you. He acquiesced and asked what the player ID was, pulling up that strange navigation console. He almost scoffed when the ID pulled up one of the most pretentious usernames he had yet seen, and he had seen many. “Abysm Sovereign?” he laughed, reading the name aloud. “Just who is this guy?”

His contagious laugh ignited your own. “You should see the rest of my friend list,” you giggled, already pulling up the list. Ko’s eyes scanned it, reading names such as PntMeLk1ofUrFrnchGrls, PommePommePilot, StarBoyLumiere, and, disappointingly, Dr. Z.

With the wealth transferred to a now very pleased dragon, you and Ko set off for his player residence, a gorgeous, secluded cabin tucked away in a seldom-visited corner of the map. The property, like all player residences, was restricted to those who hadn't been invited by the owner.

Once inside, you beelined to his alchemy table, eager to use those mushrooms. While you pulled items out of your inventory, Ko threw himself on the plush velvet sofa nearby. He finally removed his mask, tossing it onto the coffee table. His large frame took up the whole couch and then some, his feet propped on one armrest while he threw an arm behind his head as a makeshift pillow. His golden eyes tracked your avatar’s every movement, his gaze unbearably fond.

“You know,” he rumbled, “you're lucky I let you use my crafting tables for free. Most alchemists have to rent those.”

You didn't even look up from your stirring, the corner of your lip twitching into an almost-there grin. “I’m still not sharing the mushrooms.”

“Oh, come on,” he groaned. “You can't spare just one?”

You shook your head, not even trying to hide your smug amusement, airy giggles filling the room and embedding themselves in Valko’s fluttering heart.

By the time your brewing level flashed a celebratory [Level Up!] notification, it was getting late. You stretched your avatar’s arms, yawning. “Alright, Ko, I’m heading out for the night. It’s getting late.”

He sat up on the couch, his expression suddenly shifting into something serious, his intense gaze locked onto you. “Tomorrow at noon,” he began, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “There is a global EonCore Tech broadcast. Watch it.”

You blinked, throwing him a confused look, but agreed all the same.

“Promise?” he asked, his burgundy ears giving a sharp twitch.

You smiled softly at him, still wondering why he was so adamant that you watch. “Yeah, yeah, I promise,” you laughed, waving a hand at him. “See you tomorrow, Ko!”

You woke up with a groggy yawn, the phantom sensation of pointed ears still lingering as you rubbed your eyes. Glancing at the clock, your eyes widened. 11:58 AM. You scrambled for your tablet, quickly tapping onto the livestream you had promised Ko that you would watch.

The screen flickered to life, displaying a massive auditorium flooded with press. At the podium was the real Chairman Valko, so much more intimidating than your foraging partner. The one at the podium wore a suit that could probably cover your rent, his hair perfectly styled and golden eyes scanning the crowd. He also lacked the pointed ears and fluffy tail that you had become so fond of.

“As we move into the new fiscal year, EonCore remains dedicated to the safety and experience of its players,” Valko spoke, his smooth voice echoing through the speakers. It was the same voice that usually begged you to share potion ingredients, but here, it was devoid of any hint of playfulness.

You watched him, leaning back into your pillows. You almost scoffed. As if Ko could really be-”

“However,” Valko continued, pausing as he looked at the center camera lens. “With our recent update to the servers, we advise our players to exercise caution when playing the new events. You never know what kind of stray dog you might find. You may find the Lunar Fungus not worth the risk.”

Your jaw dropped, and the tablet nearly slipped from your grasp. The press in the auditorium didn't even blink, his vague warning likely sounding like a teaser for whatever new event was being added, but you knew better. A breathless, horrified gasp left your throat as your mind flashed back to the day you had first come across the wolf hybrid avatar.

Valko had wanted to test the gameplay personally, and thus HowlKo was born. The only problem? He was a disaster. You had been slowly but surely making your way through a dungeon when you heard a series of crashes. Turning around, you had found a towering, clumsy player with a wolf mask surrounded by level-two slimes he couldn't figure out how to target and bits of armor that had, up until a moment ago, been neatly displayed as a full suit.

You had sighed, easily slicing the slimes away and helping him up. From that point on, he hadn't left your side, clinging to you like a remora. He didn't know the map, he didn't know the crafting recipes, and he refused to leave your side, following along behind you everywhere you went.

“You're like a stray dog, aren't you?” You had joked back then, watching his tail give a hesitant, hopeful wag. You’d been inseparable since.

Back in the real world, you stared at the screen, mortified. Valko, Ko, adjusted his expensive cuffs, gave a polite nod to the press, and stepped away from the podium.

You couldn't get the VR set on fast enough, the sensory transition passing in a blur of blinding white pixels until your feet hit the wood floor of Ko’s cabin’s front porch. It was your day off, which meant you had a completely open schedule. Unfortunately, this also meant that you had nothing to distract yourself from dwelling on the fact that you had been calling a tech mogul a stray dog to his face for a year. Or that you'd accused him of hacking.

You didn't even bother going inside. Instead, you dropped onto the top step of the porch, wrapping your arms around your knees as you waited for him to log in. For twenty agonizing minutes, you sat there, staring at digital grass and felt the simulated breeze blowing through the clearing Ko’s cabin was situated in.

Suddenly, a chime interrupted the serenity, signaling the arrival of the owner of the cabin. In a blur of burgundy pixels, Valko’s avatar materialized just in front of the steps leading up the porch. Your head jerked up, watching him materialize in front of you.

He was wearing his wolf snout mask again, his massive greatsword securely strapped to his back. The second his boots hit the dirt, he registered your figure sitting on his stoop. A look of shock crossed his face.

“Did you watch the broadcast?” he asked, his deep baritone carrying a smug amusement.

You buried your face in your hands, groaning, more embarrassed than you cared to admit. God, you couldn't believe you had accused him of hacking.

“And what did you think?” Valko prodded.

“That I’m an idiot,” you lamented, your voice still muffled by your hands.

He chuckled, leaning down to pull your hands away from your face, the pout on your lips so endearing he felt his heart skip a beat. With your hands still in his, he pulled you up, leading the way into the cabin.

Your cheeks flamed. All you could focus on was the way his warm hand encapsulated yours so perfectly.

Inside, he removed the mask, letting it dissolve in a cloud of pixels, revealing the sharp curve of his lips in a smirk, his fangs flashing. “Y’know, I think you should make it up to me for calling me a hacker and a liar,” he teased, gearing up to once again pester you for those damn mushrooms.

You frowned, the floor suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. An uncomfortable guilt settled in your chest from your previous words. “‘M sorry, Valko,” you mumbled, barely looking up from the floorboards, like a child being scolded by a parent.

The grin fell from his face. He wasn't trying to actually make you feel bad, especially over something he wasn't even mad at. He certainly didn't want the first time he heard you say his name be because you were apologizing to him. “Ko,” he corrected bluntly. “I’m still your Ko. The version that you know is the authentic one. Nothing has really changed if you don't want it to.” He spoke earnestly, desperate to rectify the slight miscommunication and salvage your image of him.

You looked at him properly this time, searching his eyes for any hint of dishonesty. Finding none, you sighed, your shoulders slumping. “Why did you wait so long to tell me?”

He considered the question for a moment. “Because then you would have treated me like the EonCore Tech chairman.”

You were taken aback by his answer, but considered his earlier words. He was still your Ko. “For someone who wanted to avoid being recognized, you sure didn't change much about your avatar.”

The return of your sly grin lifted a weight from his chest. “That’s what the mask is for, duh. I’ve seen you almost every day for a year, and you never suspected it. Even when I showed you my face, you assumed it was a skin. So obviously hiding in plain sight was a great plan, thank you.”

You rolled your eyes, happy that your companion was here to stay.

“In all seriousness,” he began again, the brief levity broken as soon as it had been established. “I thought about what you said the other day. I’ve proved who I am, and I was serious about wanting to meet you in person. But if you're still not comfortable, would you be open to a virtual date? We can do whatever you want, right here on the server.”

His tail gave a small, hopeful wag, his eyes wide and sincere as he awaited your answer. Warmth bloomed in your chest and spread across your face to the tips of your ears. Slowly, you shook your head.

Valko’s shoulders dropped instantly, his ears drooping and his tail becoming listless. He couldn't hide the abject disappointment fast enough. “That’s alright,” he said, forcing a smile, wishing he had never opened his mouth.

“No, Ko,” you laughed gently. “I’m declining the virtual date.”

He snapped his head towards you, his ears perking back up. “You mean-”

You nodded. “In person,” you confirmed. “If the offer still stands.”

A beamed at you, his bright smile lighting up his whole face with unbridled joy. “The offer absolutely stands.”

— — —

The bell above the door jingled as you stepped inside the restaurant. You had half expected some over-the-top, expensive restaurant with a month-long waiting list. Instead, Valko had sent you the address of a dimly lit, likely family-owned hole in the wall. It was cozy, the decor outdated and the booths a little worse for wear.

“Do you recognize it?”

You turned around. Standing near a corner booth was Valko— the real-world Valko. He was dressed down in a sweater with the sleeves pushed up his forearms, looking impossibly handsome despite the casual clothing.

You blinked, looking around the exposed brick walls and checkered tablecloths. “Oh my god,” you breathed, a bright smile breaking across your face. “It’s the tavern in the city center.”

Valko nodded, thoroughly pleased that you not only recognized it, but that it made you happy. The dinner passed in a blissful blur. Any lingering nervousness you had entirely dissolved in the first ten minutes. He was the same doting and slightly needy partner you had spent the better part of the past year falling for. He poured your drinks, pushed the bread basket closer to your side, and listened to everything you said with rapt attention, his eyes soft and full of unwavering fondness that made your cheeks flush.

As the night finally wrapped up, he offered to take you home. You guess you shouldn’t have been surprised that he had a personal driver, but you were still flustered when Valko himself held the door open for you, sliding in beside you.

“So, Mr. Chairman,” you hummed. “You kept your identity a secret, hid a message in a global broadcast, and built a replica of one of your favorite restaurants in-game. Any other surprises up your sleeve?”

Valko hesitated, diverting his attention to the passing streetlights before looking back at you, so pretty in a way your avatar hadn’t been able to capture. “Maybe one or two,” he chuckled. He redirected the conversation back to you, not quite ready to reveal the rest and wanting more than anything to arrange another date to get to know the you behind the avatar who taught him the mechanics of his own game and so jealously guarded her inventory.

When the car pulled up the curb in front of your apartment building, Valko reluctantly slid out of the seat, holding the door for you and offering his hand.

“Thank you for tonight,” you said. “I had a great time.”

Valko nodded enthusiastically. “Of course. Would you, uh,” he faltered, red spreading across his cheekbones. “Would you want to do this again?”

You giggled, over the moon that he seemed every bit as enamored with you as you were with him. “I’d love that.”

He let out a relieved huff, the nervous tension visibly leaving his shoulders. You bid your goodbyes, but you’d hardly taken two steps before you stopped wrestling with your own cowardice, shoving it down as you whirled back around to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. With a final, whispered goodbye, you hurried into the building, leaving Valko to stand there with his fingers lightly grazing the skin your lips had been on just moments prior.

His heart fluttered like a trapped hummingbird, soaring high as he climbed back into the car. His mind kept wandering back to what it felt like to have you close—for real this time, not like when you’d cozy up next to him on the couch of his cabin.

You followed him, a fond smile tugging your lips. You unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open. Valko stood in the hallway, looking effortlessly handsome in a dark jacket that emphasized his broad shoulders. He held a plastic bag filled with your favorite snacks, a soft smile playing on his lips. 

“Hey,” he greeted, his deep voice sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. He took one step over the threshold. 

“YAP! YAP! YAP!”

Valko froze mid-stride, his boot hovering an inch above the doormat. Planted firmly between you and the “intruder” was four pounds of fury. The chihuahua’s paws practically left the floor with every explosive bark.

You used your foot to nudge him backward, waving Valko in so you could shut the door. He walked in slowly, raising his bag of snacks like a shield. His golden eyes darted from the noisy thing at his feet to you, his lovely girlfriend, with a look of profound bewilderment. “Why does he hate me so much?”

You shrugged. “He’s just protective. Not all that much different than what you did to that guy who asked for my number last week,” you said, picking up the frantic dog and tucking it into your arms like an angry football, the barking quieting down to a low growl.

“That was different,” Valko protested, following you into the living room. 

“Is it?” you teased. You plopped down onto the couch, patting the space next to you. Valko set the bag of snacks on the coffee table, warily eyeing the sentinel staring him down from the comfort of your lap. 

He lowered himself onto the cushion next to you as slowly as he could to not invoke the anger of the furry beast. The couch dipped significantly under his weight. The chihuahua growled, but remained in your lap, his chocolate-colored body shaking as he watched your boyfriend’s every move.

Valko sighed with relief when he managed to sit without any yapping. “He’s so small,” Valko muttered, watching the dog warily. “But so, so angry.”

“He’s the man of the house when you're not here,” you teased again, leaning back into the plush couch cushions. Seeing an opportunity, Valko tried to casually slide his arm along the back of the couch to drape it across your shoulders.

“YAP! YAP!”

The little dog lunged, propping his front paws on your chest to snap at Valko’s arm. Valko flinched his arm back, tucking his hands safely against his chest. “Okay,” Valko exclaimed breathily, staring down at the tiny defender. “No touching. Got it.”

Halfway through the movie, the relentless barking finally caught up to your little protector. His heavy, watery eyes blinked slowly against the glow of the television screen. With a dramatic sigh, he circled three times on your lap, tucked his nose under his tail, and collapsed into a brown puddle of fur. 

Carefully, so as not to disturb the fragile peace, you pulled the throw blanket over him. Within seconds, a faint snore rumbled from under the fabric.

Valko’s golden eyes cut sideways, tracking the rise and fall of the blanket. He waited. One minute, then two. Slowly, with the careful precision of a predator stalking its prey, Valko began to lift his arm from his knee. He didn't make a sound. His broad shoulders shifted by a fraction of an inch as he hovered his arm over the back of the sofa, gradually sliding it down until it rested behind your shoulders.

He didn't pull you close just yet, holding his breath, his eyes glued to the lump on your lap. He stayed there, stiff as a board, until he was sure the chihuahua was still sound asleep. You had to press a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter, your shoulders shaking against his side.

“Stop laughing,” Valko whispered, concerned with the way the lump was now resituating itself. “You’ll wake him up.” When the blanket settled again, Valko finally let a slow, relieved exhale. He gently curled his fingers around your upper arm, pulling you just a tiny bit closer into his warmth. 

Emboldened by his success, Valko looked down at you, the soft light from the TV reflecting in his eyes and illuminating his handsome features. He leaned in slowly, his gaze dropping to your lips.

“Grrrr…”

A muffled growl emanated from the blanket. The lump didn't even move, but the canine’s internal radar was clearly operational. Valko paused, his lips just inches from yours, a look of utter frustration crossing his face.

“He’s psychic,” Valko accused, his eyes narrowing at the blanket. “There's no other explanation.”

You couldn't help but chuckle. Deciding you had had enough of the four-pound dictator, you reached up, cupping Valko’s jaw with both hands, and pulled him down into a firm, loving kiss. You deepened the kiss just long enough to hear him groan into it.

“Finally,” Valko whispered against your lips when you pulled away, a warm smile lighting up his face.

— — —

The next morning, soft sunlight filtered through your bedroom curtains. You blinked your eyes open, feeling the slow rise and fall of Valko’s chest beneath your cheek. Some time in the middle of the night, you had fallen asleep on the couch, and Valko—braving a barrage of barks— had carefully carried you to bed.

You were currently tucked securely against his side, your head propped comfortably on his shoulder while his heavy arm wrapped around you, holding you close. You shifted slightly, intending to look up at his face, but stopped when you noticed that Valko was wide awake, staring directly at the ceiling. 

“Valko?” you grumbled, your voice still thick with sleep. “Are you okay?”

“Don't move,” he answered, his deep morning voice a rumble in his chest. “This is a hostage situation.”

Curious, you lifted your head just enough to look down the length of his body. You immediately had to bury your face in his neck to smother your laughter.

Stretched out flat on his back, the expanse of Valko’s firm abdomen had beeb claimed. Perched directly in the center of his stomach was your little chihuahua, the dog curled up in a tight ball. The giant wolf-hybrid had been utterly defeated, rendered nothing more than your dog’s personal mattress.

“He followed us from the living room,” Valko explained softly, not daring to breathe too deeply. “He spent an hour just glaring at me from the foot of the bed. This is where he was when I woke up.”

You smiled, sliding your hand up to Valko’s cheek. “What are you complaining for? Seems like he’s finally accepting you.”

“Good morning, Ms. Secretary,” he greeted jovially. Valko leaned one large hand on the polished wood of your desk, his tailored suit shifting with the movement. He looked every bit the impressive wolf hybrid who ran an entire tech company. When you finally looked up, he locked eyes with you. A wicked smirk pulled at his lips, his heavy tail giving a slow swish behind him. 

With a slow, deliberate nudge, he pushed a stray pen off the desk’s edge. Before it could drop more than a few inches, your feline reflexes snapped. Your hand blurred through the air, catching the pen mid-fall. You halted its descent perfectly, giving your boss exactly the show he had been looking for. 

Your ears flattened sideways as your tail flicked with agitation. You fixed him with a sharp glare, but his blatant amusement was written all over his face. 

“Sir, please,” you hissed under your breath, trying not to draw the attention of your coworkers. “I’m trying to concentrate, and I know for a fact you have a meeting later today to prepare for.”

He ignored the protest entirely. Instead, he leaned down closer into your space, his ears pulled backwards, almost flat against his head, like a dog waiting to be given affection. “Excellent reflexes, kitty. Keep up the good work,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. 

He straightened up, turning on his heel to saunter back into his private office. He had clearly walked out with the sole purpose of disrupting your day, entirely for his own enjoyment. 

By mid-afternoon, your nerves were frayed from a constant awareness of the office door behind you. You needed a breather, and, more importantly, you needed fifty copies of the third-quarter financial portfolio organized and stapled.

You escaped to the copy room, a narrow, windowless shoebox of a space that perpetually smelled of ink and dust. The massive industrial printer took up most of the room, leaving only a narrow corridor between the machine and the supply shelves. 

You loaded the master files into the machine, pressed start, and let out a sigh as it began its rhythmic whirring.

The heavy door clicked open behind you. Your ears twitched backward, pinning flat to your hair as that familiar cologne filled the cramped room. You didn't even have to turn to know Valko had followed you. The already-small space suddenly seemed even smaller now that you were sharing it with his bulky figure.

“Need something, Mr. Chairman?” you asked, making it a point not to look at him as you watched the machine spit out copies.

“Just looking for some extra staples,” he answered, his voice entirely too close. Before you could offer to find it for him, he stepped directly into your space. His large hand landed on your waist as he maneuvered himself behind you, his solid chest brushing against your shoulder blades. You froze, your breath hitching in your throat. He leaned over you, reaching one long arm to blindly grope at the top shelf above the printer. The movement pinned you between the warm machine and his even warmer body. Heat radiated off of him, contrasting with the cool metal of his belt buckle pressing into your lower back.

“I can't seem to find it,” Valko murmured right against the extra-sensitive shell of your fluffy ear. His warm breath made your tail give an involuntary, hard twitch. “Are you sure we aren't all out, Ms. Secretary?”

He was completely blocking you in, using the excuse of a tight space to fully engulf you in his scent and to breathe yours in. Your claws instinctively pricked against your palms, desperately wanting to dig into his expensive suit just to ground yourself.

“It’s on the supply shelf, sir,” you choked out, your voice tighter than you intended. 

“Ah.” You felt the smirk in his voice. He twisted to look behind him, but still didn't release you, keeping you fully pinned to his broad chest. Keeping you trapped between his body and the machine, he slid his thigh deliberately between yours to keep his balance as he contorted his body to scan the shelves. “So it is,” he confirmed, reaching toward the half-empty box of staple refills. He finally left with the staples you were certain he didn't actually need, his fingers brushing against your hip as he slipped out behind you.

By 3:00 PM, the meeting room was full of executives intently listening to Valko speak about an upcoming project for the company. There was always something so captivating about watching him in his element at the head of the long mahogany table, and you found yourself paying more attention to how good he looked with his glasses and wanting to feel those sharp fangs sink into your skin than taking notes and keeping minutes.

“If you look here,” Valko directed, pulling a laser pointer from his pocket and clicking it on. A bright, ruby-red dot appeared on the screen. He continued speaking, using it to trace along line graphs and emphasize certain figures. He dropped it down when it was no longer needed, but it remained on, the red dot darting around the floor as Valko, to the humans gathered around the table, merely twiddled with it. 

Your pupils dilated, expanding until the irises of your eyes were practically swallowed by black. Your cat ears snapped forward, and your gaze locked onto the pesky pinprick of light as it zigzagged over the carpet.

Every single feline instinct screamed at you to pounce. Your right hand twitched, desperate to swat the light from existence. Your tail gave a hard, violent flick. You forced your eyes away from the hypnotic pull of the dot to look at the man having the time of his life toying with you despite being in a professional setting. Not that that little detail had ever stopped him before.

Valko was already looking at you, still explaining costs and financial logistics. With a subtle movement of his thumb, the dot darted just to the side of one of your shoes, and you couldn't stop your foot from attempting to stomp it out, only for it to reappear on your shoe.

You scowled, annoyed that you had fallen victim to your own instincts. From the head of the table, you heard Valko chuckle through his words, his golden eyes flicking over to you, making it very clear that you were the source of his laughter. With a final, mocking twirl of the pointer, he clicked it off, pocketing the device as if nothing had happened, and all you could do was sit in silent, exasperated rage.

The clock finally struck 5:00 PM, the workday coming to a close. The bullpen filled with a chorus of zippers, rustling coats, and goodnights as the employees filed towards the elevators. 

You were walking down one of the hallways, returning from the break room after taking a brief water break, when you saw that Valko had exited his office. His tie was loosened, and the top button of his shirt was undone, exposing the thick column of his neck. The suit jacket had been discarded, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His ears swiveled forward, immediately locking onto the sound of your approaching footsteps. 

When you passed each other, he didn’t stop you in your path, but he didn’t let you simply pass by him, either. With a deliberate sweep of his heavy, maroon tail, he brushed the furry appendage against your thigh. The thick fur brushed over your skirt and briefly against the fur of your own tail, sending sparks shooting up your spine. 

You gasped, your ears pinning flat against your head as you whirled around. “Valko!”

He continued to walk, barely sparing you a glance over his shoulder, but it was enough to see the wide smile on his face, his sharp fangs showing as he laughed. 

You huffed, practically stomping back to your desk. Ordinarily, you’d preen under his attention, but what didn’t he understand about “time and place?”

When Valko returned, seeing you practically pouting at your desk, he just couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to hear his kitty purr for him. 

“I need to see you in my office,” he said curtly, expending a tremendous amount of effort to keep his tail from wagging. 

You sighed, but followed him into his office. As soon as you were over the threshold and the door shut behind you, he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his solid arms around you as he buried his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. 

“Why won’t you let me do this during the day?” he complained. It was his turn to pout, but it didn’t stop the excited wagging of his tail at having you pressed against him without putting on the charade of a respectful employer-employee relationship. 

You rolled your eyes, but melted into his warmth anyway, wrapping your arms snugly around his waist. You didn’t struggle keeping your hands to yourself as much as he did during the workday, but he made his struggle yours with all his teasing. You nuzzled your nose into his chest, and he did the same against the top of your head.

The pair of you stayed that way for a long while, savoring the proximity of the other, tails winding together. 

It was sweet, until it wasn’t enough for the canine hybrid. His hands began to wander, groping everywhere he could reach, paying special attention to where your tail was attached to your body. It was highly sensitive, and he knew that, using it to his advantage. 

You gripped onto his shirt, claws catching at the material. He tugged at your silk blouse. “Take it off?” he whispered, his voice raspy with want. 

— — —

“Valko!” you yowled, the ridges of his cock hitting every crevice inside you. Bent over his desk like this, there was nothing you could do but take every powerful thrust, your claws leaving shallow grooves in the wood of his desk as you scrambled for purchase. 

“My pretty kitty,” he babbled. “Won’t let me show everyone you’re mine. Are you embarrassed of me?”

“No- ah!- ‘m not embarrassed,” you denied. 

“Prove it, then. I gave you that mark so- hng!- everyone would know you’ve already been claimed. Use it like intended. Don’t- so tight- don't hide it tomorrow.”

You nodded mindlessly. You’d have agreed to anything if it meant he kept fucking into you like he had a score to settle. 

Valko let out a low, triumphant chuckle. A fierce warmth spread through him, utterly thrilled that everyone would soon know you were his and he was yours. 

He continued pounding into your weeping pussy, his thick tip prodding at your cervix and grunts and whines spilling from his lips. You were a pliant puddle beneath him, unable to focus on anything except his hips rutting into you with a predatory precision. 

His hands were on your hips, pulling you back into him as he pummeled your insides. Your tail was curled around his thigh, and he relished the way your body subconsciously sought him out, even when he was already buried hilt deep inside of your pretty pussy. “Doin’ so good. Mmm, squeezing down so hard.” His voice is jagged, nearly a growl.

“S-so deep! Oh!” you cried out. The drag of his thick cock against your sensitive walls, coupled with the sinful sounds of your lover and the wet squelching between your bodies, had you right on the edge, and he could feel it. 

You could feel the swelling bulge at the base of him, knocking into the tight resistance of your already stretched-out hole. Your breathing was coming in shallow pants, and Valko wasn’t much better, his deep grunts morphing into whimpers with every clench of your cunt around his length. 

“Gonna take my knot, baby? Gonna let me fill you up?” he rasped, his head swimming just thinking about plugging his seed deep inside you.

You nodded feverishly, a weak “uh-huh” the most you could enunciate through the mind-numbing pleasure. 

He thrusted into you deeply, pressing his hips flush against your ass, and his knot popped inside of you with a strangled gasp. The new stretch sent you reeling, every muscle tightening as your poor abused hole clamped around him, shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your body. 

His heavy cock twitched inside you, spilling ropes of hot cum inside of you. He moaned freely, his golden eyes transfixed at the point where your spasming cunt swallowed him to the base, his knot keeping you connected. Valko didn't stop rutting into you, pushing his cum deep inside of you, willing it to take. 

Only when he couldn’t take the overstimulation did he collapse on top of your panting figure, careful to brace himself not to hurt you. He peppered the side of your face, your neck, everywhere he could reach with sweet kisses, praising you all the while, telling you how perfect you were for him. 

He gathered you in his arms as best he could, pulling you with him to sit on his lap in his desk chair. He smoothed your hair down, paying special attention to where your fuzzy ears attached to your head. You purred in his hold, content to have your mate dote on you while he was still buried deep inside of you.

Valko, never one to be able to resist you, nuzzled his nose into your hair. “Did you mean it? When you said you’d stop covering the mark?”

You pulled back just enough to look into his earnest eyes, wide with anticipation of your answer, a spark of fear in them that you would take it back. You flushed, but nodded shyly.

He laughed loudly and unabashedly, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. The sound of his glee was infectious, your own giggles joining the merriment. He pressed a kiss to your lips, overjoyed. “Can I scent you before work, too?”

You rolled your eyes in mock exasperation, but your smile gave Valko all the permission he needed. “On one condition,” you said. 

Valko’s eyebrows raised, curious as to what condition you could have.

“You have to promise me the same,” you smirked, leaning in close until your nose brushed his. Your fingers traced the line of his collarbones to the junction of his neck, where a matching bite mark was scarred into his skin. “Maybe then that annoying pomeranian in accounting will get the hint that you're taken.”

Valko’s eyes widened in surprise before a slow, deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. His tail began to thump wildly against the leather of the desk chair. “Are you jealous, sweetheart?"

“I don’t like the way she looks at you and stands too close,” you sniffed, tilting your head up in a way that reminded Valko you were no exception to feline haughtiness. 

He laughed again, the sound full of utter adoration, and squeezed your waist. “There’s no reason to be jealous. I’m yours, from the tips of my ears to the soles of my feet. I’ll let you scent me as much as you want. I’ll even make sure she smells you on me if it makes you happy.”

It was endearing how keen he was to bring you into his space without worrying about when you would have to return to Linkon. Not once did he leave your side, always making sure you wouldn’t lose your balance while carrying boxes or overexerting yourself. It was the domestic fantasy you had always dreamed about.

As smooth as Caleb made the moving process, your boss had been a thorn in your side from the get-go. He had refused to sign your transfer request to the Skyhaven facility, staunchly opposed your leaving, and said he didn't want to have to train someone else on the job. It took a week of back and forth for him to finally sign, his attitude on the matter doing a complete 180°, now eager to get you out of the building and wishing you great success. You furrowed your brows, unsure where this sudden change came from, but frankly, you were too excited to tell Caleb that the transfer had been approved to dwell on it. You didn't see his sigh of relief when you were finally leaving.

Caleb had gone as far as to take time off to help you settle in and unpack, but it soon became abundantly obvious that he had ulterior motives. Though he had lived there for some time, he still proclaimed that now that it was a family home, the rooms would have to be christened. Even if it wasn't a new place, it was a new, joint life, and that was good enough for him.

As promised, there was not a single room that Caleb hadn't indulged in your body. You think you spent more time that week wrapped in his arms, under him, and, occasionally, on your knees for him, than you did actually unpacking. Unfortunately, as much as you loved being doted on, that single week was all the time you had been allowed before resuming your work, albeit in a different location.

“Just a few more minutes, Pips,” Caleb groaned, pulling you tighter against him, refusing to let you get out of bed.

“You said that ten minutes ago,” you answered, pushing on the arm that was snuggly wrapped around your waist, laughing as you did so. “We’ll both be late, and then what? I can’t be late on the first day.”

He nuzzled his nose into your shoulder, giving you one final squeeze before relenting and letting you go. You rolled over, kissing his cheek softly before reluctantly leaving the comfort of both your boyfriend’s strong arms and the warmth of the bed. He didn't take his eyes off you, watching the way the morning light illuminated your figure and caressed the sliver of skin that was exposed when you raised your arms to stretch. He was beginning to regret hitting snooze instead of using his time to admire the mouthwatering sight. It helped, though, knowing that his home was now your home. He had the rest of his life to cherish and adore you.

“You're so beautiful,” he murmured, his expression soft as he gazed at you. Heat rushed to your face. Despite his constant praise, there would always be a part of you that got flustered with his every compliment. How had you found such a perfect guy? Despite not having the time to do all he wanted, Caleb wasn't deterred from slipping his hands under your shirt and stroking the soft skin as you prepared breakfast in the kitchen.

As much as he insisted on driving you to work, you were no stranger to the public trains of Skyhaven, having visited so much. You settled on him driving you to the station, talking your ear off about how he wanted to know everything when you got off work, and how great he was sure it would be. Like your former boss, you didn't see the way his features hardened when you got out of the car, observing the other commuters.

The ride was uneventful, and you passed the time by scrolling on your phone. You frowned when your message to a friend didn't go through. Everything else seemed to be working fine, but no matter how many times you tried, the message stubbornly kept that little red exclamation mark signifying that it couldn't be delivered. You sighed, choosing to worry about it later. Maybe it had something to do with being on a floating island. You'd never had issues before, but there was a first time for everything.

When you arrived at your stop, you stood smoothly from your seat, sliding your phone into your bag and readjusting the straps on your shoulder. You were pleasantly surprised to find that, unlike most other public transportation you had been on, it seemed as if the passengers here were acutely aware of personal space. Not one person bumped into you on their way in or pushed you forward to follow the crowd of those disembarking. 

From the train station, your work was a short walk away, the tall office building visible before you had even left the station. You hesitated when the doors came into view, your nerves getting the better of you. You hated feeling like the new kid at school, but such was life. You took a deep breath to calm yourself, pulling the door open with a confidence you didn't actually possess. You soon learned that there was no reason to be so nervous.

Upon entering the facility, the woman at the front desk startled so hard she nearly knocked over the mug of steaming coffee on her desk. She rose from her seat to welcome you. “Hi, you must be the new employee! My name is Penny. Mr. Burbank told me we were expecting you today,” she said, her smile a little too wide, and her voice a little too chipper. She grabbed something from the desk, handing it to you. “Here’s your employee ID. Mr. Burbank is in his office just down the hall. You can't miss it. It has his name on it and everything,” she joked in that overly-friendly tone.

You returned the smile. “Thank you so much! It was nice to meet you, Penny.” You made your way down the hall, scanning the doors looking for “Burbank” written on one of them. You found it towards the end, and before you could so much as raise a fist to knock it swung inward, revealing who you assumed to be your new boss.

“Ah! And you must be our newest member of the team!” he greeted you, even more enthusiastically than the receptionist had, if that was even possible. You put on a polite smile, though it was becoming a little unnerving how unnaturally upbeat people seemed to be, even as your boss gave you a tour of the space and introduced you to your coworkers. You brushed it off as them just trying to be welcoming and accommodating to the newcomer.

It should be easy enough to get in the groove of things. After all, it was the same job you had been working previously, just at a new location and with new people. Mr. Burbank cut his over-the-top hand gestures short, patting the edge of a sleek, modern desk. “And this is where you’ll be working! We wanted to make sure you felt right at home, so it’s already been supplied with pens and such. If you need anything, absolutely anything, my door is always open!” With a final, blinding smile, he marched back to his office, leaving you to settle in at your new desk.

You let out a long, quiet breath as you settled into the office chair, surveying the array of supplies that came with the desk. Oddly enough, the mesh organizer was already filled with the exact gel pens you had always sworn by. You hummed, pleased that you wouldn't have to worry about finding your original ones in one of the many unpacked boxes still cluttering Caleb’s home.

“He’s a lot to deal with on a Monday, isn't he?”

A head of soft curls popped over the partition separating your desks. The girl attached to them gave you a sympathetic smile, a knowing glint in her eyes. “I’m Evelyn,” she said, leaning her elbows on the divider. “Don't let Burbank scare you. He’s a big fan of extra espresso shots, if you couldn't tell. You’ll get used to it.”

You laughed genuinely for the first time today as you introduced yourself. “Good to know. I guess I’d rather have a passionate boss over a rude one.”

Evelyn nodded understandingly, eyeing the pens in the mesh holder before shifting back to your face. “No question about that.”

You thought that would be the end of the conversation, but she spoke up again. “Well, as Burbank said, if you need anything, don't be afraid to ask. Honestly, the system is the same as the Linkon branch, so you shouldn't have any trouble.”

Your eyes widened slightly in shock. “How do you know I’m from Linkon?”

“Oh, since you're working next to me, Burbank let me know we were getting a transfer from the sister office,” she answered flawlessly without a hint of hesitation. You accepted her answer, not having any reason to doubt it.

As she said, and as you expected earlier, you had no trouble taking up the work. The time flew, and before you knew it, Evelyn was tapping you on the shoulder to get your attention.

“Since you're new in town, how about getting lunch with me and Pen? You met her at the front desk, right?”

You glanced at the clock, seeing that it was indeed already time to eat. You happily accepted the offer, grabbing your bag from where it was stored under your desk and following Evelyn out to the lobby. “Ready to go, Pen?” Evelyn asked.

“Yeah, just give me a sec,” she answered, her attention wholly on the computer in front of her as she typed something feverishly. The second she finished, she spun in her chair to face the pair of you waiting. “Oh!” she exclaimed, seeing you. “Are you coming, too?”

“If it’s no trouble—” you started, suddenly concerned that you were intruding despite having been invited by one of the parties.

“No, of course not! The more the merrier!” Penny was quick to reassure you. 

“So!” Evelyn cut in, clapping her hands. “What about that bistro a few blocks from here? The one with that BLT I really like?” She turned to you. “They have a great lunch menu. You’ll love it, I promise.”

With everyone in agreement, off you went. It was nice to have met such nice women on your first day. The bistro was close enough to walk, and they chatted with you the entire way there, ensuring you were never left out, going so far as to catch you up on the latest office drama.

The bistro was packed with the midday rush, filled with the comforting aroma of garlic, melting cheese, and the chatter of patrons. Luckily, the wait was shorter than you had anticipated, and the three of you were seated in record time.

After giving your drink order to the waiter, Pen leaned towards you, propping her arms on the table. “So, tell us about you. What brought you to Skyhaven?”

Evelyn mirrored Penny’s posture, eagerly wanting to listen to learn more, too.

You looked away sheepishly, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I moved in with my boyfriend. We’ve been dating for two years now, and it just felt like the right time. His job is here, and way more important than mine, so it only made sense for me to move in with him instead of vice versa.”

The girls squealed at your answer.

“That’s so sweet,” Evelyn gushed. “What’s he like? He must be something special to relocate your whole life.”

“Yeah, tell us about him.”

Their excitement was infectious, and you couldn't help but indulge their fun. “His name is Caleb, and yeah, he’s amazing,” you said, your cheeks warming when you recalled him holding you in the kitchen that morning. “He’s incredibly attentive. He takes care of everything before I even think of it.”

“And what does he do for a living? You said his job was way more important, but I don't know. I personally take great pride in what we do,” Evelyn probed.

“He’s a colonel for the fleet,” you answered proudly.

“Oooh, impressive, and it sounds like he really adores you.”

“He does,” you agreed, feeling an intense wave of gratitude wash over you.

Before they could ask any more questions, the waiter returned with your drinks, pulling out a notepad to take the rest of your orders. Once he was gone, you turned the questions around.

“What about you two? Anyone special in your lives?”

Penny shook her head, and Evelyn groaned. “Nothing more than a string of bad first dates. I mean, is it really so hard to find a decent guy, or do I just have bad taste?”

Penny rubbed her back soothingly, but the comfort didn't last. “Maybe a bit of both?” she suggested, grinning wryly.

Evelyn’s jaw dropped as she scoffed. “And what about you, huh? Didn't the last guy you go out with turn out to already have a girlfriend?”

“You promised not to talk about that!”

The duration of lunch was spent in that fashion: discussing each other’s love lives, even if you were the only one with a significant one, hobbies, interests, etc. They were great, truly, and you felt so fortunate that you were able to seamlessly slide into the easy chemistry that the two already had. While waiting for the checks, you pulled your phone out both to check the time and the message thread with your friend from back ho— Linkon, you corrected yourself. Skyhaven was home now.

You sighed, frowning slightly, drawing the attention of the table.

“Something wrong?” Penny asked. Her voice was light, but her posture was remarkably still as she watched you tap frustratedly at the screen.

“Yeah, just…trying to text a friend back in Linkon, but it won’t go through.”

“Oh, don't sweat it,” she said easily, waving a dismissive hand. “Skyhaven tends to eat external signals. Happens to all of us eventually. It’ll clear up!”

“As high-tech as this place is, you'd think the service would be more reliable,” you remarked.

She shrugged. “A little bad service is worth the trade-off, don't you think? Everything you need is right here. Once you're a resident, there's not really a need to look elsewhere. Plus, you've got a handsome colonel waiting for you at home.”

You tilted your head towards her, confused. You hadn't said anything about Caleb’s looks. Maybe she just naturally assumed that since you were his girlfriend, you’d find him attractive. Objectively speaking, he was, but she didn't know that. Her words before that also threw you, sounding like a rehearsed line, like someone trying to talk you into buying something. You almost expected her to pull out a pamphlet of Skyhaven’s highlights. But her bubbly way of speaking made it easy to ignore. You were new to living there full-time, so it could also be that she was just trying to ease any homesickness you may be feeling.

———

“Go on, get out of here,” Evelyn laughed, shooing you away from your desk as the clock finally ticked to five. “Your colonel is probably already waiting.”

You rolled your eyes, but acquiesced, shutting everything off for the day after double-checking that all the files were saved. “Less waiting, and more cooking. He’s making his signature braised chicken to celebrate,” you admitted, mouth already watering as you thought about it. 

“You definitely won the lottery,” she said, giving you a playful wink. “Have a good night, I’ll see you tomorrow. Don't wait up on me, I’ve gotta run this-” she held up a stack of papers “-to Burbank.”

The commute back felt entirely different than the one there. This time, instead of being filled with a frantic nervousness for your first day, you were happy and content, excited to tell Caleb all about the two women you had already befriended. And, unlike most of the train rides you had boarded in Skyhaven, this time you weren't a visitor. You were a resident going home. It made your heart flutter in your chest to think about it. 

When you walked in, you were immediately enveloped by the savory scent of Caleb’s cooking wafting from the kitchen. The moment the door clicked shut, Caleb was calling out for you. “Pips? You home?”

Before you had even taken your shoes off, he appeared in the doorway. He’d already discarded his uniform, opting instead to don his more comfortable lounge clothes, an apron covering them. 

“Hey,” you greeted, dropping your bag onto the entryway table.

Caleb crossed the room in two large strides, catching you by the waist and pulling you flush against his chest. He held you tightly, one of his hands sliding up your back to cup the back of your head. He held you in place like he never wanted to let go. You laughed, wrapping your arms around his trim waist and melting into his familiar warmth. 

“How was your day? Did they treat you well?” he asked without breaking the hug.

You pulled back slightly to see his face. “It was great! I met these two really nice ladies named Penny and Evelyn. They even invited me out to lunch with them!”

Caleb smiled tenderly at you, kissing your forehead. “Good. That’s exactly what you deserve. Only the best.”

Dinner was filled with idle chatter about your days, and Caleb’s attention never wavered from you, not even for a moment. When your plates were empty and your stomachs full, you practically had to force Caleb out of the kitchen and into the living room.

“But, Pips, I really don't mind cleaning up. In fact, it should be me,” he protested.

“Nope,” you replied. “You cooked, so I’ll take care of the cleanup.”

“That’s hardly fair. It’s more like I made the mess, and you’re the one cleaning it.”

You only shook your head at him, continuing to usher him out. He eventually relented, but you could see him pouting on the couch where he was waiting. As soon as the last of the kitchen was tidied, you made your way over to Caleb, who pulled you onto his lap before you were able to take the seat next to him. “You're finally here,” he whispered, his lips brushing your jawline as he drifted down to your collarbone, leaving a trail of burning, lingering kisses. “My beautiful girl. No more different cities. No more goodbye trains.”

“No more goodbyes,” you agreed softly, tilting your head back to give him better access, your fingers tangling in his dark hair.

He groaned, a low vibration against your skin, and adjusted his hands to grip your hips, rolling your hips against his. His eyes were dark with an overwhelming, desperate adoration that made you feel like the center of his whole world. When his lips met yours, it was slow, possessive, and all-consuming— a silent vow of complete and utter devotion. Your body was pliant against his as he rose from the couch, your legs wrapping securely around his waist as he carried you to your shared bedroom, all of your worries and anxieties melting away in the security of his strong hold.

Two months dissolved into a golden haze of domestic bliss. Skyhaven had long since stopped feeling like a new city and actually felt like home. Life with Caleb settled into a rhythm that felt almost impossibly perfect. Given the nature of his job, his days were spent dealing with high-stress tasks, yet he was always sure to leave work at work, never taking his issues home where his pretty girl was waiting for him. No matter what his job put him through, he was still your Caleb; still the same man who insisted on you not lifting a finger; still the same man whose only concern was ensuring that you were as cared for as you could be.

He was fiercely, unapologetically attentive, whether it was a coffee thermos waiting for you on the counter on the days he had to leave earlier or rubbing your shoulders when you complained about stiffness after sitting at a desk all day. Contrariwise, you did whatever you could for him. Making sure the formal coat he discarded over the arm of the couch was properly hung up so it wouldn't get wrinkled, offering reassurances whenever he doubted making the wrong decision at work, anything he needed, you were there, as he was for you.

At the office, the initial corporate stiffness evaporated, and Penny and Evelyn became permanent fixtures in your life. Friday nights at a local bar became a ritual. They knew your favorite drinks, celebrated your small successes at work, and constantly reminded you how lucky you were. “Honestly,” Evelyn had mused one night. “A man who looks like that, who holds a rank like that, who treats you like that? You're living a fairy tale most of us can only dream of.”

You believed her. You really did.

The first time the illusion rippled was a Tuesday morning in mid-October. Mr. Burbank had bounded into the room, practically vibrating with his usual high energy, pushing a rolling cart loaded with coffee carafes and several boxes from a nearby bakery.

“Good morning, everyone! Brilliant numbers last week, truly brilliant!” he beamed, clapping his hands together and gesturing towards the spread. “Please, help yourselves. A reward for all your hard work! Keep it up!”

You stood up with Evelyn, moving towards the table to fix a coffee. You were scanning the assortment of pastries when Mr. Burbank stepped up beside you, immediately reaching into one of the boxes with a pair of tongs. He pulled out a muffin with an impeccable streusel topping, placing it onto a paper plate before handing it to you. “There you go! Raspberry-white chocolate!” he said with a jovial nod. “Your favorite, right?”

You froze, the weight of the muffin in your hand taking on a weight it didn't previously have. You stared down at it. It was your favorite, but you hadn't mentioned that to a single soul here. “Oh,” you said, forcing your voice to remain light as you looked up at him. “Yeah, it is. But how did you know that, sir? I don't think I've ever mentioned it.”

He faltered, all gusto melting from his face, a blank expression replacing it. He glanced sharply over your shoulder toward Evelyn, who had stopped pouring her coffee. Then, like flipping a switch, his bright smile returned stronger than before, but was a little tighter around the edges. “I’m certain I’ve heard it somewhere. Maybe it was in your information during onboarding. We’ve always been a very thorough company, you know.” He walked away hurriedly after his rushed explanation, not giving you the chance to question it. Surely no company was that thorough, right?

You were still puzzling over it when Evelyn nudged you with her elbow. “C’mon, get some coffee before it goes if you want some,” she said, pulling your thoughts away from Burbank’s strange behavior.

The unease only deepened that Friday, tucked away in a corner booth with Penny and Evelyn. Your phone sat on the table next to your glass. The screen lit up briefly with a notification: Message to “Jane” failed to send.

You sighed, propping your head up and rubbing one of your temples. “Hey, are you guys still having trouble with external signals? I still haven't been able to get a single call or text to Linkon since moving.”

Penny paused, her cocktail glass just an inch from her lips. Beside you, Evelyn tensed. The easy, girlish chatter vanished, replaced by a thick, suffocating silence.

“Oh, the defense grid has been super high-intensity lately,” Penny said, her bubbly voice sounding forced. “The fleet’s been doing a lot of training exercises.”

“It’s getting really frustrating,” you admitted, swirling the straw in your drink. “I miss my friends and family. I’m thinking of taking a long weekend next month to visit. Just booking a train ticket and staying in Linkon for a few days. It’s been too long since I've seen everyone.”

Penny’s glass hit the table with an abrupt clink.

“Why would you want to go back there?” Evelyn asked. Her tone wasn't that of a friend asking a casual question. It was sharp. Defensive. Accusatory.

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. “I just told you. I miss my family and friends. Linkon was my home for my entire life until a few months ago.” You didn't understand why this seemed to be such an issue to them.

“Skyhaven is your home now,” Penny rebutted smoothly, though her eyes were darting rapidly between you and Evelyn. She reached across the table, covering your hand with hers. “And you have us now! Besides, Linkon is way more dangerous. Wouldn't it be better to stay safe up here? Caleb would worry himself sick over you.”

You frowned. “It’s not like I’d be traipsing through the N109. Again, I grew up there. I can navigate the city just fine. Why are you pushing this so hard?”

“It’s just not a good idea,” Evelyn said, her voice dropping into a stern, unyielding tone, like a parent chastising a child. “You're safer here. There's no reason to go back.” They both stared at you, their expressions of manufactured friendliness not quite reaching their eyes. You pulled your hand back from Penny’s, dropping the subject in conversation, but not forgetting it altogether. For the rest of the night, something in you remained unsettled. 

“I think I’m going to head home. It’s been a hectic week,” you informed them, checking the time on your phone. “It’s getting late, too.”

“Do you want us to walk you to the station?” Penny asked, already rising from her seat.

“No, no, please. You two stay and enjoy yourselves. Caleb already offered to pick me up whenever I’m ready.”

They nodded understandingly, watching as you pulled up your chat with Caleb, the only one that never seemed to experience a single second of network delay. Ready to head home, you typed, your thumbs flying across the screen. Can you come get me?

He answered immediately. On my way, Pips.

It had barely been five minutes when he texted you again to tell you that he was waiting outside. That’s curious, you thought. It should have taken him at least twenty minutes from home. Nevertheless, you bid the girls goodbye, hurrying out to see Caleb’s sleek, dark car pulled up at the curb. You slid into the passenger seat, placing your bag on the floorboard as you settled in,  the scent of Caleb’s cologne enveloping you and offering a familiar comfort you only associated with him.

“Have fun?” he asked as he pulled away, glancing at your outfit from the corner of his eye. God, the things you do to him.

“Yeah, I guess so. You got here really fast. Were you already near?”

Caleb nodded, taking one hand off the wheel to point to the backseat with his thumb, where you saw an assortment of plastic bags. “Yeah, just picking up a few things. Found this soup recipe that I think you’ll love. Saw your text right as I was leaving.”

You hummed, and he continued, stretching his hand across the console to rest a hand against your thigh. “Anyways, you said you guess you had fun? Did something happen? Are you okay?” he inquired worriedly.

You smiled gently at his concern. “I’m fine, Caleb. The girls were just a little strange. I brought up wanting to visit home since I still can't contact anyone. You'd think I'd suggested walking into a warzone.”

Caleb’s thumb, which had been rubbing circles on your skin, stilled. “Oh, yeah? What did they say?”

You let out a long breath, relaying everything that had been said, how intensely opposed they had been. “Am I reading too far into it? It’s like they were trying to prevent me from leaving.”

Caleb kept his dark eyes on the road, jaw clenching. You should never have been made to feel uncomfortable. “They were probably just worried about you, that’s all. It’s not unusual for friends to be concerned.”

You weren't convinced, but said nothing. He continued. “If you really want to go so badly, though, just let me know when so I can make some arrangements. We’ll go together. It’s been too long since I’ve had your mother’s cooking.”

You blinked at him, stunned, warmth blooming in your chest. “You’d really take time off for that? I’m just looking to visit for a few days, and they need you here.”

“If it’s just a few days, then they can survive without me, don't you think? The fleet isn't so fragile as to fall apart over me missing for a few days,” he laughed, enjoying how cute your concern was. “You are my number one priority. Always.”

Your reservations melted away, replaced by the absolute security that Caleb provided. You set your hand on top of his, where it still rested on your thigh, content to let the conversation fall into silence and admire the lights of the passing buildings through the window. 

Your side profile was illuminated beautifully, but he could hardly relish the sight as he normally would have, not when you had thrown his thoughts into such disarray. You wanted to leave? Why couldn't you just forget about your old friends? Weren’t the new ones enough? He had finally made his home yours. He loved you. He would do anything for you. Anything except let you go.

The comfort lasted for exactly three days.

On Monday, you found you didn't have much of an appetite and opted to visit a small, local cafe for a small pick-me-up. It was a quaint and homey place, in a quieter section of the city. Caleb had recommended it to you on the very first weekend in Skyhaven, raving about the ham and cheese croissant. You had been there with him several times since, now heavily associating the place with his warm laughter.

Today, you were alone, not wanting to deprive Pen or Evelyn of a decent meal just because you weren't in the mood. The regular barista you usually saw wasn't there, though you guessed that made sense since you were here at an entirely different time of day than usual. Instead, it was a young man with short-cropped hair, looking decidedly bored with everything around him.

“Welcome in,” he greeted. “What can I get for you?”

“A small vanilla latte and an almond croissant, please,” you answered, digging through your purse for your wallet.

“You got it,” he said, already getting to work on the coffee. You waited patiently off to the side, not really paying attention to much around you until your name was called to get your order. You didn't think much of it at first, but then his words hit you like a bucket of ice water. You never gave your name.

You collected your items, but called out to stop him from walking away. “How did you know my name?” you asked, heart racing in your chest. He looked like a deer in the headlights, his bored expression now one of someone who had made a grave mistake. He didn't answer, only apologized that he was busy and didn't have time for idle chatter.

You hurried back to the office, unsure how to tell Caleb you would likely never return to the cafe that had become a favorite casual date spot. You decided to find answers yourself before telling him. The next morning, you left extra early to have time to drop by. The bell above the door chimed as you walked in, and the barista you usually saw was back behind the counter. She glanced over at the door after hearing the bell, her posture going ramrod straight, almost seeming to recognize you.

You approached the counter apprehensively. She flashed you a blinding smile and welcomed you in, her customer service dial turned as far as it could go with her artificially cheery tone. “Hey, I’m looking for the barista who was here yesterday. Short, dark hair? Was on the clock around noon?”

She looked at you, puzzled. “We don't have anyone here that looks like that, I’m sorry. But if you're ready to order, I can certainly help with that!”

“No, he was here yesterday,” you said, bile rising in your throat. Something was so terribly wrong, even if you couldn't quite pinpoint just what it was yet. “He made my drink.”

“I’m sorry, ma'am, but you must be mistaken.” Her smile hadn't wavered once, only changed from the megawatt one that it had been when you first walked in to an apologetic one. “Can I get anything started for you?” She tried again.

You shook your head, leaving without another word. You couldn't shake the distinct feeling that something was off.

The rest of the week passed by quietly, with nothing else out of the ordinary. You went to work, kissed Caleb goodbye, talked to Evelyn and Pen over lunch, went home, and spent your evenings curled up with your boyfriend. By Saturday morning, you had nearly settled back into the mundane comfort of everyday life.

Caleb had been called in for a briefing, and you found yourself needing to work off the restless energy. You figured you might as well be productive and grabbed a broom, determined to have the house spotless by the time Caleb returned. You were sweeping the hallway when you noticed his office door — which was always closed and locked — was cracked open, an unheard of occurrence from the man who had never once forgotten to secure it, the files and paperwork within far too important.

You knew you shouldn't, but you couldn't help yourself. You propped the broom against the wall and pushed the door open, walking in slowly. It was meticulously organized, not so much as a single pen out of place. You stepped closer, reaching out for a manila folder with the fleet’s insignia on it. The first thing that greeted you when you opened it was your own face. You were so startled you nearly dropped the folder altogether.

You scanned the page, finding all the information about you that anyone could ever want to know. All the basic personal details, such as your name and birthday, but beyond that, it also included your blood type, medical history, daily routines, and even a brief list of your favorite things as well as dislikes. Your entire life was printed in front of you in black and white. 

Your heart was beating against your ribcage so hard it felt like it was trying to escape. Swallowing thickly, you continued flipping through the document, feeling more and more sick with each one you saw. Though they were far less detailed than yours, there was a file for Evelyn, Penelope, Burbank, and even the mystery barista. All low-ranking members of the fleet. All assigned to you with specific instructions about how to behave around you.

Numb with shock, your eyes drifted to the computer that had been left on, the screen idling. You shook the mouse, and a digital map of Skyhaven was pulled up. At the very center was a pulsating crimson dot hovering over the house. Without confirmation, you already knew exactly who that dot was tracking.

Not knowing what else to do, you put everything back exactly as it was. You backed out of the room, clicking it shut this time. For the next forty-eight hours, you gave the performance of your life. When Caleb came home, you kissed him as usual. You cooked dinner. You talked about each other’s days. You curled into his side and let him stroke your hair when it was time to sleep. You just had to make it to Monday, when you both returned to work. Then, you would have your window to run.

When Monday came, you slid from your desk, not bothering to answer Evelyn’s questioning look. You ignored Penny’s calls to you as well; your mind made up that you had to get to the train station as soon as possible. You’d barely made it to the end of the block when you rounded a corner and ran directly into what felt like a wall. Before you’d even looked up, you knew you’d have to lie through your teeth. You recognized that uniform.

Glancing up, you were met with Caleb's purple eyes staring down at you, his brows furrowed. “Where are you going in such a rush?” he asked, concern dripping from his words. “Do you feel sick? Need to go home? You seem a little flushed.” He raised his free hand to your forehead, checking your temperature.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were on duty today,” you asked, wondering just how he had gotten there so fast.

He held up one of his hands, drawing your attention to a take-out bag from one of your go-to spots. “I thought we could have lunch together,” he said sheepishly. “But if you’re not well, you’re probably not very hungry either.”

You nodded, once again resigned to pretending everything was normal.

“Let’s go home,” he said softly, taking your hand in his and leading the way. The workday wasn't even over, and you obviously weren't able to leave quite yet, but you couldn't bring yourself to care about any repercussions. Given that your boss was stationed by the fleet, there likely wouldn't be any repercussions at all.

Caleb didn't act any differently than normal, fussing over your well-being and insisting you get some rest as soon as you were back home. He was no fool. He knew you’d finally realized, yet he clung to the illusion that he had so carefully curated. He desperately didn't want you to be afraid of him.

He stayed by your side until you fell asleep, and he was gone when you woke. You wasted no time throwing a duffel bag together, your hands shaking as they violently zipped the bag shut. It was harder to walk out the door than you thought it was. Your heart was bleeding for what could have been, for what should have been. You stood in the kitchen, looking around the space, memories coming to you unbidden. Caleb at the stove, an apron the only thing covering his chest; the first morning after moving in, when he hugged you from behind; the living room that had hosted countless movie nights. Was all of that fake, too?

Your vision was becoming blurry with tears that you wiped as soon as they fell. The hardest part of it all was that a part of you still wanted to stay. To pretend your relationship was as perfect as you always thought. You still loved him. Loved the man who prepped your coffee in the morning, the man who rubbed the tension from your shoulders after a long day, the man you thought you’d marry someday.

You steeled your heart to the best of your ability, pushing down both memories and your heartbreak. Making sure to leave your phone on the counter so that the incriminating red dot would remain in the house, you walked out the door.

———

The train station was winding down for the night with just a few stragglers left. You approached the ticket window, pushing your civilian ID through the slot. “One way to Linkon, please. The next available train.”

The ticket seller, an older man with tired eyes, slid your card through the electronic reader. For a second, the system chimed normally. Then, a sharp ring cut through the glass. The screen in front of the man flashed bright red. You watched the color drain from his face, his posture going rigid as he stared at the alert on his monitor. He looked at you, his eyes wide. “I’m…I’m sorry, ma'am, but the lower tracks are under maintenance. There won't be any more trains for the night.”

“What?” your voice pitched higher, a cold panic exploding in your chest. “What about tomorrow?”

The man shrugged helplessly. “The system is locked. I can't help you, I'm sorry. If it’s urgent, you can come by first thing in the morning to check.”

You backed away from the window, your mind racing. What now?

You couldn't call anyone from home, you couldn't call your “friends” here, and you couldn't leave the island. Surely local law enforcement still had some integrity. That singular thought is what kept your legs moving all the way to a local station, pushing open the heavy doors. The lobby was sterile, smelling of industrial cleaner. 

Behind the security desk sat a low-ranking Fleet officer. His posture was relaxed until he looked up and caught sight of you, breathless and trembling.

“Miss, are you alright?” He stood up immediately, concerned.

“The trains are down,” you choked out. “And my phone stopped working. Please, I need to get to Linkon. Is there any other way?”

The officer blinked, taking in your frantic state. A flash of genuine pity crossed his features. “Calm down, miss. The Coelum Express is experiencing a temporary failure. I’m sure it’ll be back up in no time. But if it’s imperative that you get there, I’ll see what can be done.” He gestured to the empty lobby. “Why don't you take a seat?”

You nodded slowly, gratefully sinking into the hard plastic chair, your knee bouncing up and down with nervous energy. Through the glass partition, you watched him sit back down, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

You let out a breath you felt like you had been holding for hours. Someone was really helping you. 

At the desk, the officer pulled up a transportation request form. “Miss?” he called out across the quiet lobby, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. “I need your full name to complete the request.” You gave it, your voice much softer now that your heart rate was finally returning to baseline. “Thank you. Just one moment, please,” he replied warmly, typing in the letters and hitting enter.

You didn't see what happened next. You were looking down at your hands, completely unaware of how the color drained from the officer’s face as he read the warning that flashed across the screen.

WARNING: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. ASSET UNDER CUSTODIAL JURISDICTION OF COLONEL XIA.

The officer’s fingers froze over the keys, reading the warning over and over, specifically the name that had ice flowing through his veins. The officer couldn't bring himself to look at you, so much more than the stranded civilian he had believed you to be. He pitied you. He really did. But it was out of his hands, now.

Forcing his voice to remain flat and neutral, he kept his eyes focused solely on the screen. “Alright, miss, I just need a supervisor’s approval, and then you’ll be all set.”

“Thank you,” you murmured gratefully, offering a small, fragile smile of relief. You watched him disappear into the back offices, entirely oblivious that the officers were already phoning the colonel.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. You were starting to worry that something was wrong when you heard the door to the station open again. You glanced over, expecting to see another citizen or perhaps another officer of the station. Instead, what greeted you was the intimidating figure of the very man you had worked so hard to get away from.

He was still in full uniform, cap and all, looking every bit the colonel everyone else saw, and for once, you did too, rather than your boyfriend. It lasted only a moment, his eyes softening with such profound relief when he saw you, and he was back to looking like your Caleb.

He walked towards you, offering a hand for you to take. You felt something break inside you, looking over to the desk to see the officer had returned, his head tilted down in a display of shame. There was nowhere for you to go. There was nothing you could do. With no other options, you slid your hand into his. You stood, and he cupped your face, directing you to look up at him. “I was so worried about you, Pips,” he whispered, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. You didn't reply, trying to reconcile that you’d never go back to the way things were before. “Let’s go home, yeah?” he said softly, looking at you like a pet that had wandered a little too far from home.

Before leaving, Caleb turned to the officer. “Thank you for your vigilance, Adjutant.”

He didn't speak on the ride home, and neither did you. In fact, you didn't even move, like prey hoping to avoid a predator’s notice. Not that it mattered when you were already in the passenger seat of his car.

It wasn't until the front door shut behind the pair of you and the lock clicked into place that he finally spoke, placing his cap on the entryway table.

“Why did you leave, Pips? Don't I make you happy?” he asked, his voice cracking with agonizing sorrow. You remained silent, choking back sobs. You tried to walk around him, keeping your head down, but he caught your arm. “No. Don't do that. You can't just walk away from me,” he pleaded. “I’ve done everything to make you happy. To keep you safe. I thought we were happy.”

“Why?” was the only thing you could muster, tears welling up in your eyes and strangling your voice.

Caleb seemed caught off guard, but didn't hesitate to answer as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Because I love you.”

 “This isn't love, Caleb, this is a lie,” you sobbed, grabbing onto his wrists. “I don't understand. How did you even—” you couldn't finish, your legs giving way under you. Caleb went down with you, pulling you into his chest as you cried, stroking your hair the way he always did.

“Having you here is what keeps me here, and the Fleet wouldn’t replace me easily. But they didn't understand that you are my priority.” He pulled back just enough to look at your tear-stained face, his eyes dark with all-consuming devotion. “I was worried about you moving here. What if you didn't adjust well? What if you got homesick? It was distracting. In a world where you were protected and happy, I wouldn't have to worry so much. It was all for you.”

You buried your face back into his chest, your body wracked with sobs. The crushing weight of his confession paralyzed you. And the absolute sickening tragedy of it all was that you still loved him. You didn't want to leave him, to give up the happiness you had with him. You were entirely horrified by the lengths he had gone to and the scale of his deception, but more than his lies, you were trapped by the depth of your own feelings for him. You couldn't stop loving him, even if it meant choosing your own captivity.

Sensing your compliance, Caleb let out a sigh of relief. He scooped you into his arms and carried you to the bedroom, laying you gently on the mattress and crawling in beside you, his arm over your waist, holding you tightly against him.

“Everything will be okay. I promise,” he whispered into the quiet of the room. “You just have to stay with me.” He paused, pressing a kiss into your hairline. “I love you. So much.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, unbidden, as you continued to stare at your beloved toy lodged in the branches. Would your father be disappointed in you for losing it? The tears fell faster and faster until you were sobbing upon the ground. It was such a little thing to be so upset over, you knew that, but it meant so much to you.

“What ails you, princess?” Came a voice from high above you, but from whom you could not see. “You cry so miserably, even a stone would be moved to show pity.” A shadowy form descended until the black bird landed directly in front of you, its unnervingly intelligent eyes seemingly looking into your very soul.

You were taken aback. It was talking. The bird was speaking to you. And not just mimicking someone else’s voice, but truly speaking. All thoughts of your ball were wiped from your mind as you stared in awe at the feathered anomaly. It waited patiently for your response, calm as the breeze that flowed through the trunks. 

“My ball,” you eventually stuttered out. You pointed where it was still lodged, the crow following the line of your arm to spy the golden bauble. “It’s stuck, and I can’t get it down.”

“No need to cry for that. I will help you, but what will you give me in return if I bring your plaything back down?” He asked, his shrewd eyes fixed on your own.

“Anything you desire,” you responded. “My clothes, my pearls and jewels, and even the crown on my head if that is what you wish.”

The crow tilted its head. “Anything? You should be more careful when making promises, especially to the unnatural. What if I asked for your heart? Or perhaps an eye. Would you give it to me?” Derision dripped from his every word.

You faltered. What nerve this feathered beast had. “I’ll give you what you wish so long as it is within reason, and I maintain the right to deny that which I am either unwilling or unable to fulfill. Does that satisfy you?”

The bird turned your words over in its mind, thinking carefully about your wording before answering that yes, that would do just fine. So up, up, up the bird flew, nudging your precious gift from where it had lodged itself so that it came falling back to earth with a solid thud. You reached out, your hand wrapping firmly around it. The bird landed in front of you once more, his request already decided.

“Thank you, Mr. Crow. What is it that you would like in return for helping me?”

“A kiss,” he answered confidently, not a shadow of a doubt that that was what he wanted.

You had expected gold or other such shiny things, something a crow might find enjoyment in, but reality was so far from your expectations that you were again stunned into silence.

“A kiss, your highness, that is all I ask for,” he pleaded, almost desperate. Why a crow was so insistent on a kiss was beyond you, but you would not grant it. It spoke like a person, so how could you be sure it was a crow at all and not some evil of the forest that only took the form of a crow? What if a kiss would bind you to it for all eternity?

“I cannot do that, Mr. Crow,” you declined.

“Cannot or will not? Your terms were that you could refuse my requests if you were unwilling or unable, so which is it?”

“Will not. My father is considering a betrothal with another kingdom. Whether you are a crow or something else, my kisses are reserved for the one whom I will marry.”

The crow looked disappointed, which you didn't even know was possible for a bird. “I would like to be your companion then. To eat and drink the same food, to sleep in the same quarters, to be at your side, always.”

You acquiesced, but the second the crow looked away from you, you fled back to the castle, trying to put as much distance between you and that unnatural bird as you could. He took to the air, following your retreating figure, squawking at you to wait, to come back, that he meant you no harm, you promised. But you did not listen, did not care to hear one more word the mysterious bird had to say. It shouldn't have had any words to say in the first place.

You didn't stop running until the castle doors were shut firmly behind you. You thought the crow wouldn't have dared leave its home in the forest, but it was waiting for you, adamant that you would hold up your end of the deal. 

That night at dinner, you heard an insistent tapping at the window. Your father, the king, heard it as well, shooting a curious glance your way as if to ask if you heard it too. The dining room was not on the ground floor; no one should have been able to reach those high windows. You rose slowly, walking to the covered window to pull back the curtain. There, perched on the windowsill, was the crow from the forest. It stared at you directly through the thick pane of glass, its beady eyes narrowed. Yet, it never stopped the incessant tapping on the window with its beak. You yanked the curtains closed, returning to your seat and ignoring the infernal tapping upon the window.

“What is it?” your father asked, looking between you and the window.

“A crow,” you answered simply, drinking from your goblet to hopefully avoid saying more.

“Why is there a crow on the windowsill? It’s awfully late for a crow to be this active.”

You sighed heavily, telling your father of all that had transpired earlier in the day. How you had lost your ball, how the crow had retrieved it, how you had promised it a reward, and then how you hadn't fulfilled his wish. He looked angry, but not at the crow; no, he was angry with you. “That which you promised must be fulfilled. You are a princess. You cannot make such empty promises. Go, allow him in, and keep your word. He will eat and drink as you do, sleep as you do, and be at your side always.”

Though you greatly disliked it, you did as he said, approaching the window and once again parting the curtains to reveal the disgruntled bird. You scowled at it. Why couldn't it just stay in the woods? Or, better yet, have helped you just to be kind, and not ask for such ridiculous compensation.

You unlatched the window, allowing the bird to fly into the dining room where it perched on the chair across from yours, staring at you expectantly. You walked back to your seat after securing the window, not taking your eyes off the bird.

You didn't speak to the bird, ignoring it as best you could, whereas your father made polite conversation with it, as if there was nothing odd about conversing with a crow over dinner. Your father had called over a servant, requesting that both a meal and a drink be brought out for the bird. “What shall we call you?” your father asked politely.

“Your daughter called me Mr. Crow. That will do fine.”

“Don't you have a name of your own?”

He did, but it stuck in his throat when he tried to utter it. “No. I’m just a crow.” For now.

Your father nodded, not quite satisfied, feeling bad that a sentient creature such as the crow had not so much as a name to call its own. “Mr. Crow it is then.”

When dinner ended, he followed you to your bedroom, and almost followed you into the bathroom as well until you shut the door in his face. You dismissed the maids, insisting that you wanted to be alone. Obviously, the crow was here to stay, so you wanted all the alone time you could get. You scrubbed until your skin was angry and raw, wishing you could scrub the crow itself from both your memory and life. No ball, however sentimental, was worth such a headache.

You exited the bathroom, finding the crow stubbornly waiting for you just outside. You groaned, ignoring it, and it followed you all the way back to your room, making itself comfy on one of your pillows. Your distaste for the creature only deepened. “You're not sleeping in my bed,” you stated.

“Our agreement-”

“You requested the same quarters, not the same bed. It was you who said to word things carefully, no?”

He laughed, beyond amused. You were right, he did say both of those things. “Very well. Where would you have me sleep then, your highness?”

“Don't know, don't care. Get out of my bed.” You glared as you watched him settle himself on your writing desk. You crawled into bed, blowing the candle out to sleep, and hopefully, when you woke up, this would all have been a dream.

“Princess?” called the bird. “You've not given me a place to sleep.”

“Sleep on the floor for all I care,” you grumbled, pulling the covers up higher to cover your ears.

“How do you expect to care for your people one day if you cannot even care for a bird?” The bird goaded, amusement morphing into offense at your continual poor treatment of him.

“You're just a bird!” you spat at him.

“I’m your guest,” he corrected indignantly, pride running hot through his veins.

You shot up in bed, snatching the other pillow that he had been on and tossing it to the floor. “There! Is that what you wanted?” He hopped onto the plush cushion, making himself comfy.

“It is,” he said finally, content with his downy accommodations, even if not so pleased that he was still on the floor and not your bed. Just to add to your obvious irritation, he added, "Goodnight, princess.” He took immense satisfaction in your muffled groan from beneath the blankets you had buried yourself under.

The next morning, you woke from the light streaming in through the open window. You stretched, body still lethargic with sleep. You forced yourself into a sitting position, spotting the now-empty pillow on the floor, the only trace that the bird had been there at all. You dressed for the day, making your way to the dining room to join your father for breakfast. 

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he greeted you warmly. “Sleep well?”

You hummed in affirmation, pouring yourself a cup of coffee from the carafe.

“And where is Mr. Crow?” he asked, not missing the absence of the newest resident of the castle.

You shrugged. “Don’t know. He was gone when I woke up. The window was open last night for fresh air.”

“You didn't throw him out of the window, did you?” he asked, eyeing you suspiciously.

“No! Of course not!” You wanted him gone, but you didn't want to actively terrorize the bird.

Your father still looked slightly suspicious of you, but let it go without further argument. He finished his food, excusing himself from the table to go to his office. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, telling you to take your time with breakfast and that your lessons had been postponed in favor of getting to know your new friend, absent though he was.

You sipped your coffee, taking in the early morning light. It was calm, relaxing, until that same wretched tapping as last interrupted the serenity. You sighed, placing your mug back on the table and rising from your seat. As you drew near, you could see that it had something in its beak, but you weren't quite sure what until you opened the window.

They were flowers. The bird had woken up early to pick flowers. He angled his head up, as if offering them to you. “For me?” you asked quizzically.

It nodded its feathered head, hopping closer. You took the modest bouquet, curious why he would do such a thing. You had done nothing to deserve such a gesture. “Thank you. They’re very pretty,” you said with a small smile, touched by the effort this must have taken for the small animal.

“Pretty enough to deserve a kiss?” He asked.

You shook your head. “I already told you I won't kiss you.”

Sylus was beginning to think he should have negotiated that kiss before helping you at all. “I’ll earn that kiss eventually, princess.”

You rolled your eyes, turning your back to him and returning to finish your now lukewarm coffee, the crow in pursuit. He nibbled at the spread, but didn't seem keen to eat much. He was a bird, and the phrase ‘eat like a bird’ had to come from somewhere, you guessed. In truth, he was planning and plotting how to get you to kiss him. He only had so much time before this was permanent, and his human consciousness was overridden and forgotten.

Days came and went in the same fashion. The bird continued sleeping on what you had designated as his pillow on the floor, ate every meal with you, and joined you for walks around the garden. He was your ever-present shadow, just as he had requested. Your annoyance with him decreased with each passing day, beginning to grow fond of his company, especially once you got used to his dry humor. On this particular day, he was perched on your chair in the garden’s gazebo, reading over your shoulder. When you had asked if he was even capable of reading, he had merely scoffed at you.

The two of you were reading in silence, and with him still securely perched on your chair, you knew it wasn't him hopping around beneath the table, so what was that brushing against your shoes?

You glanced beneath the table, jerking away with a scream that startled Sylus into the air. He landed on the ground, eyes zeroing in on the offender who had scared his princess so badly. It was just a small garden snake, something he could easily handle. He looked at you to see that you weren't just surprised by the snake, you were genuinely scared. That settled that, then. The snake had to go.

It was quick, but unable to evade Sylus forever, now squirming in his beak. He flew off with it, returning without it shortly, landing on the table. “Are you alright, your highness?” 

“Yes, quite. Thank you, Mr. Crow,” you said gratefully, smiling at your feathered friend.

“I think my heroics ought to be rewarded. How about a kiss?”

You giggled. He was very persistent about receiving a kiss but would not tell you why, no matter how much you asked. You kissed the pads of two of your fingers, then brought them down on the bird’s beak. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” he said, not impressed with your display.

He was even less impressed when Prince Xavier, the crown prince of one of the neighboring kingdoms, Philos, was invited by your father in the hopes of the two of you becoming amiable to a betrothal to unite your two nations. He was seething. It was supposed to be him! He was the one who was in talks with your father, not this boy who hadn't even ascended the throne yet. He would not sit idly by while his would-be bride was wooed by another, condemning him to life as a crow permanently.

Though Xavier was every bit the gentleman he was expected to be, Sylus also knew that Philos was suffering economically. Onychinus, on the other hand, was thriving. How unfortunate that the king had gone missing recently, leaving your father to explore other options for his daughter. It wouldn't last. Sylus would make sure of it.

Already, the young royal was on Sylus’ nerves, sitting in his spot across from you. He made his displeasure known, staring the prince down from his position on your chair, abstaining from the meal altogether in favor of glaring at the nuisance in his seat.

“Is he your pet?” Xavier asked, gesturing to the bird.

You glanced over at Sylus, shaking your head with a smile. “Mr. Crow? No, he's a friend more than a pet.” Sylus puffed his chest out proudly. “He’s usually more talkative than this, though,” you added, somewhat concerned with his new silence.

Xavier seemed confused for a moment before something clicked in his head. “Right, I’ve heard that corvids are wonderful at copying human speech. I hope to hear from Mr. Crow before I have to return to Philos.”

You pinched your lips together, deciding not to tell him that the bird could truly talk and didn't just copy phrases he heard. It almost felt special that he wouldn't talk to Xavier when usually he talked your ear off, his sarcastic remarks never failing to pull a giggle from you.

But his odd behavior didn't stop with his uncharacteristic silence. Cookies and tea were brought out, and before Xavier could take one from his plate, Sylus took it upon himself to snatch one. 

“Hey!” you reprimanded, gently pushing him away from the plates, cookie still held in his beak. “What is wrong with you today?” It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but you didn't miss the pointed glare he directed at Xavier.

“He’s quite alright. I don't expect birds to have table manners. Would you like another?” he asked, nudging his plate towards Sylus, which was promptly ignored.

The intention was to anger the other royal, cause a tantrum, but all he had succeeded in doing was endearing you even more when Xavier had actually been kind to him.

Nothing was working. Not dropping a grasshopper on him in the gardens, not pulling the buttons of his coat, not even pecking at his hand when he tried to hold yours. He remained ever so patient. You, however, were losing yours. Xavier might believe that Mr. Crow was just a normal bird, but you knew better.

That night, when the castle was turning in for the night, you were confronting an audacious bird. “What was all that about today? I need him to like me!”

“Why? You're a princess; you have plenty of other options. You don't need anything from Prince Xander,” he dismissed. Based on his tone, if he were human, you would be convinced he would be inspecting his nails, bored, and acting as if the conversation was nothing of import.

“Xavier,” you corrected. “And I do need something from him. A marriage proposal would unite our kingdoms and-”

“And what?” Sylus interrupted. “Drag you into ruin with him? Philos is a failing kingdom, and he would only take Linkon down with it. He intends to use you to gain access to Linkon’s resources.”

The bird's cruel words cut you deeply. “You're just a bird. How could you possibly know any of that?”

He scoffed derisively. “Because he believes me to be just a bird, and, despite what you say, you know that’s not true. He doesn't watch his words around me the way he does with you.”

You were biting your bottom lip, brows furrowed in that oh-so-cute way he loved. He hated that it was born of insecurity, though. “Did he talk to you?” you asked timidly, trusting that he wouldn't lie to you, but still knowing that his answer would likely hurt.

“He did. When you excused yourself from the gardens. Said that ‘my owner’ is a foolish girl looking for love in the wrong places. That she was just a means to an end, and when he married you, the first thing he would do is get rid of me. Which I don't appreciate, by the way.” He saw your downcast face, hating that there was nothing he could do to make it better. “I’m sorry, your highness.”

You shook your head. “It’s not your fault. Thank you for telling me. I believe you, but can you prove it? Something tangible that I can show my father?”

“Consider it done.”

“Come back here, you odious beast!” the young prince’s voice followed him as he took flight from his room, returning to yours, the damning letter clutched in his beak. You were waiting for him by the windowsill, accepting the letter he proudly presented to you. Your eyes scanned its contents, your face expressing your anger more and more. 

You were tempted to rip the letter into pieces, but you needed the evidence to show your father, preferably in one piece. 

“Will that suffice?” Sylus inquired. “He walked in before I could finish reading it.”

“It’s exactly what I asked for. You couldn't have done any better.”

“I believe my hard work is worthy of a kiss, wouldn't you agree?” You were, in fact, inclined to agree with him this time. Were it not for him, you may have actually ended up betrothed to a man who thought you “foolish and airheaded” and described your dear friend Mr. Crow as “a ghastly thing that ought to be fed to the dogs.”

You nodded at the bird who was waiting for you to refuse him as you always did, but the refusal did not come. You nodded slowly, ever so grateful to the bird that you were willing to accept the one request he so often made. You pushed your hair behind your ear, leaning in to kiss the feathers atop the bird’s head, the bird himself eagerly waiting to be rid of this cursed form.

A knock at the door. It was a maid informing you that your father was requesting you in his office immediately. You smiled at the bird apologetically, his disappointment palpable. His time was dwindling. Already, he could feel the crow’s instincts overriding his conscious thoughts.

“Explain to me why Prince Xavier just stormed out of the castle! What happened?” Your father was livid, more so than he’d ever been with you. “You’re not a child anymore! You have your future to think about. He’s the crown prince of-”

“Of a kingdom on the brink of financial ruin. Here.” You thrust the stolen letter forth, watching your father’s anger at you redirect to the arrogant prince.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you, my dear child. After reading this, good riddance to him. But how did you get this letter?”

“Mr. Crow retrieved it. I left the two of them alone, and Prince Xavier talked to him, told him everything. Mr. Crow wouldn't speak in his presence, so the prince thought he was a normal bird. I asked for proof, and he brought me the letter the prince was penning back home.”

Your father nodded, not thrilled with the methods, but opting to turn a blind eye since it kept his precious daughter out of the hands of a man who only sought to use you. He lamented the disappearance of King Sylus. Regal, successful, and in need of a queen. In terms of a political match, he was perfect. For a love match, your father still thought that you would have made a lovely pair, your personalities balancing each other. Their letters of correspondence detailed likes, dislikes, the state of the kingdoms, policies, everything that was of any importance to a marriage as high-profile as yours would be. But then they’d stopped, and eventually the news reached him that the king was nowhere to be found, having gone off on a hunt and never returning.

There hadn’t been time to build such a relationship with Philos, a fact that greatly disheartened the king. You were of the age where royalty needed to wed, but you were still his daughter, and as any father would, he only wanted the best for you. Instead, he had nearly paired you with a worm.

“When you return to your room, can you inform Mr. Crow that I would like to see him? I want to thank him personally.” You nodded, closing the door softly behind you when you left.

When you returned, Mr. Crow was sifting through your jewelry box, sorting by both types of jewelry and gemstone color. “Well, aren't you nosy?” You teased.

“It’s a terrible mess in here. Have you ever organized it?” he said, his smooth voice echoing from where his entire head was still within the ornate box.

“I have, thank you.”

“Could have fooled me.”

You walked over to your vanity, prying the bird away from your priceless ornaments, a bracelet still dangling from his beak, which you relieved him of with your hand.

“My father wants to see you in his office,” you told him as you began to return your jewelry to its rightful place.

“I wasn't done with that,” Sylus told you, miffed that you were undoing all his hard work.

“You are now. Go, before my father comes looking for you.”

He heaved a great sigh, but set out through the open window. The summer breeze was lovely, but you really did need to start closing them if Xavier was a lesson to anyone.

 -𓅨-

It was gone. You dumped out the entire box, sifted through every piece of jewelry you owned, and still couldn't find it. You had lost your mother’s necklace. You were panicking, hyperventilating. Since her death, you had kept that necklace safely tucked away, so how could it have disappeared? Fat tears rolled down your face, a deep ache settling in your chest.

“What’s wrong, princess? Are you hurt?” Mr. Crow’s deep velvety voice called from the windowsill.

“My necklace, my mother’s necklace, I can't find it, and I’ve looked everywhere. Did you see it when you were digging through it?”

“What does it look like?”

You described the necklace in as great detail as you could with your frazzled mind, and, unfortunately, Sylus knew exactly the one you were talking about. It was currently sitting in the tree he had initially taken up residence in, the one you had found him in that fateful day, squirreled away with a trove of other shiny pilfered items.

You would hate him. You would most definitely hate him after this, but he could not, in good conscience, allow you to believe that you were at fault for the loss of something so important to you. He took off from the windowsill, heading straight for the tree, tossing out all of his little treasures in his hunt for the one he should have never taken.

The second he found it, he was high-tailing it back to your room, hoping against hope that you would forgive him. And for a moment, when he landed, he thought you might. You were overjoyed when he placed it in your outstretched hand, until it dawned on you. He knew exactly where to go, and it wasn't anywhere in the palace.

You looked at the bird that you had trusted so much, betrayed. “Did you steal this from me?” you asked, your voice now a hoarse whisper, disbelief coloring your words.

He hung his head in shame. “I did,” he confessed solemnly. 

“Why?” You were still crying, and it was his fault. “Why would you take this?”

“Because I can’t help it. I-” he choked on the words. He wanted to tell you that this wasn't him, that he didn't want to hurt you, and that he was losing his real self to the crow instincts, but the terms of the curse wouldn't allow it. “I’m just a crow,” he settled on morosely. He was coming to terms with the fact that soon he wouldn't exist at all, his human soul condemned to rot away, leaving only a crow in its place. It had already begun.

“Get out,” you commanded coldly.

“Princess-” he started, landing on the bed beside you.

In your anger and hurt, you lashed out at him, pushing him away from you. The movement was so sudden and unexpected that he wasn't able to prevent himself from falling to the floor.

You gasped, pushing yourself into a sitting position to lean over the edge of the bed. “Are you ok? I’m so sorry, I didn't mean to—” The tears came stronger now. You had hurt the only real friend you had.

He flapped back up to the bed, staring directly into your eyes. “If you're sorry for hurting me, then kiss it better.”

“What?” you sniffled.

“Kiss it better, and I’ll forgive you.”

Wallowing in your own guilt, you didn't think twice about fulfilling his request, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. When you opened your eyes, Mr. Crow was gone. In his place, face to face with you, was the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes on. A man who was very, very naked.

You jerked away, a scream bubbling in your throat that the man was quick to muffle with his hand over your mouth, pinning you down beneath him so you couldn't run off. “Relax, Princess,” he said. You’d know that silky voice anywhere. You pushed his hand away, needing to confirm what you already knew was true.

“Mr. Crow?” you asked in disbelief.

“Sylus,” he corrected.

“Sy-” you started, and then your eyes widened in realization. “The missing king.” 

“In the flesh, your highness,” he grinned. “Been a bird for so long I thought I’d never be human again.”

“You- how-” you stuttered, unable to properly express yourself.

He chuckled at you, the sound so much more attractive now that it was coming from a man and not a bird. “It was a curse. I took something I shouldn't have.”

“Sounds familiar,” you said pointedly.

“Don't interrupt me. As I was saying, I took a gemstone without realizing it belonged to a witch. As you can imagine, she didn't take kindly to it. And as you've come to know over these few weeks, greed is my vice. Told her finder’s keepers, so she said if I act like a crow, then I might as well be one. And then I was one. She gave me three months before it became permanent, only broken by the kiss of a princess.”

“That’s why you wanted a kiss so bad,” you said, staring at the man in awe. “But why didn't you just say that?”

“Another condition of the curse is that I couldn't talk about it. Couldn't reveal any identifying information, but now I’m free, thanks to you, princess.”

“You are. You're also…” your eyes trailed down his toned figure, quickly going back to his face when you saw more of him than you meant to, your face flushing hot.

“Naked? Doesn't seem like you're complaining, though. I don't mind if you look.” He said, thoroughly amused at your obvious embarrassment.

You turned your head away from him, avoiding eye contact. He exhaled through his nose, leaning in to nose at your exposed throat. “C’mon, don't be shy, princess. Won’t you let me thank you?”

Your tongue wouldn't cooperate to answer him.

He hummed questioningly, nipping at your earlobe. “Some time later, then.” He rolled off you into a sitting position, but you stayed put where you were, your eyes fixed on his every movement. “It's dangerous to look at a man like that, princess, especially lying down,” he stated.

You sat upright immediately, looking at him apprehensively. “I’ll get you some clothes,” you told him.

He nodded, watching you exit the room to summon a maid. You returned shortly, still avoiding eye contact with him. He frowned at this. He knew this was a lot to take in, but it’s not like he was a total stranger. You wouldn't even sit on the bed with him, choosing to stand near the door and wait for the maid to return with the clothes you had requested. 

The maid returned with a gentle knock, and you opened it just enough for her to squeeze the clothes in, which you took gratefully, tossing them over to Sylus as quickly as you could, not caring if he caught them or not. You were turned to face the wall, determined to not see any more of him than you already had. He was still a king deserving of respect. That, and you had never seen a bare man before. This was highly improper.

“You’ve already seen everything. Might as well enjoy the show,” he teased.

You squeaked out a no, making him laugh. Even listening to the shuffling of clothes was enough to bring a blush to your cheeks. “You can turn around now,” he informed you when he finished. You did, almost laughing at how ridiculous the outfit looked on him. You weren't sure where the maid had gotten the clothes, but they were entirely too small for the large man, the pants' legs barely brushing the top of his ankles.

You covered your mouth to hide the growing smile, but it wasn't nearly enough to mask your mirth. He didn't hold it against you. He knew he looked silly, and it was nice to see your smile back on your face in place of the fear and uncertainty his return to human form had caused.

“Princess, can you arrange a meeting with your father for me?”

“Of course. You could just follow me to his office. I’m sure he’d put aside whatever work he’s doing. You’ve been missing for so long.”

Sylus looked down at his ill-fitting outfit with a grimace. He’d be seen by everyone like this. He almost wished he were still a bird, but it couldn't be helped. “Lead the way,” he said.

The walk to your father’s office was awkward, at best. You had spent weeks talking to the imposing man who now walked beside you, but you didn't know how to talk to him anymore. It wasn't for lack of trying on his part; you were just trying to reconcile that the bird who’d been sleeping in your room was actually a full-grown man, a king, and wondering if it was immoral that you found him wildly attractive even though he had been a bird up until twenty minutes ago.

When you arrived at the large wooden door, you knocked, waiting for permission to enter. You gestured for Sylus to wait outside for a moment, slipping into your father’s office to try to explain at least a little bit and not blindside him with the king’s sudden appearance.

You regaled him with everything that had transpired, his jaw dropping open more and more as you spoke. When you finished, he just stared at you, unsure where to even start. “Is this a joke?” he asked.

You shook your head, opening the door and waving Sylus inside. Your father looked between you and the other king, his brain still trying to catch up to your story. He addressed Sylus first. “Your Majesty, I have been told the most fantastical story I’ve ever heard. You were Mr. Crow?”

“I was, Your Majesty. Cursed by a witch. I can tell the full story if your lovely daughter here hasn't done so already.”

“She glossed over that, but it’s not important right now. So you were a bird, and my daughter kissed you, and that reversed the curse?”

You both nodded. Your father was at a loss for words. He’d never had to deal with anything remotely near the situation he now found himself in. But the more he thought about it, the more something bothered him. “You,” he growled, pointing an accusatory finger at Sylus. “You've been sleeping in my daughter’s room all this time.”

His demeanor completely flipped when he turned to you. “Darling, would you give us a moment alone?” he asked with faux cheer.

You shot Sylus a look, silently wishing him luck, before getting out of that room as quickly as you could. The second the door shut behind you, your father unleashed hell on the silver-haired king, not giving a damn about his status. You rocked on your feet outside, waiting for the lecture to end. You doubted anyone had ever spoken to Sylus like that.

Moving forward from that day, Sylus was immediately given his own room while preparations were made for him to return to Onychinus. He was also given explicit instructions to stay out of your room. You wouldn't admit it to him, but you missed Mr. Cr- Sylus.

It came to a head, and you couldn't take it anymore. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you were striding down the halls to the guest wing. You found him in the drawing room, seated on one of the overstuffed chairs, a book in hand and head propped on one hand. 

He saw you enter in his peripheral vision and set the book down on a side table to give you his full attention. “Princess, to what do I owe the honor of a visit?”

“I just…” You trailed off. It was embarrassing how much you missed his company, and you knew he would be smug if those words ever reached his ears.

“If you don't know what it is that you want, then I can't do anything to help you.” Was your pride worth it if he was smug anyway?

“Just thought that we haven't talked in a while.”

“In other words, you missed me,” he said, those crimson eyes seemingly peering into your very soul. Your new shyness around him was as endearing as it was irritating. He had gone from a potential suitor, to a crow, to your friend (still as a crow), to nearly a total stranger again. Did you still view him as a bird? Because he could change that.

“Come here, princess,” he commanded. There was no bite or authority to his words; you could refuse if you wanted, but you didn't. You walked forward, head held high, a facade of confidence you did not possess, not around this man who sent heat shooting to your core with a mere glance. 

You stopped a few feet away, but you were still too far for Sylus’ liking. “Closer,” he urged. Again, you stopped short of where he wanted you. He sighed, leaning forward in the chair to pull you forwards by your hips, your body slotting between his knees, his face level with your abdomen and looking up at you. “When I say I want you close, this is what I mean.” His husky voice washed over you, as tempting as the siren is to the sailor.

You braced your hands on his broad shoulders, feeling the hard muscle beneath your palms. No amount of pushing would separate him from you, though. “This is improper,” you objected, but your voice was thin and brittle, your resolve weak, and he knew it.

“Is it?”

You couldn't tear your eyes away from him even as he rose from his seated position to his full height, not allowing you to put so much as a millimeter between your bodies. He bent low enough to brush his nose against yours. “You still owe me a kiss for chasing off that prince,” he whispered, breath fanning your face.

Your cheeks flamed, but you would be lying to yourself if you pretended you wanted him to stop. You brought your hand up to his face, cupping his jawline and guiding his face forward until his soft lips were on yours. He hummed lowly, reciprocating with movements of his own. He licked the seam of your lips, asking permission, wanting, needing, more.

You parted your lips, and he snaked his tongue into your mouth, caressing your own. You hummed into his mouth, and he tightened his hold on you as if you weren't already pressed flush against his chest. Without parting from your pretty lips, he lifted you into his arms, your legs on either side of his waist. He didn't care if any of the servants were in the halls; he had already reached an agreement with your father. The betrothal hadn't been announced, but it had been decided. You were his, whether you knew it or not. He’d almost lost you to that pompous prince, and he wasn't keen to let you nearly slip through his fingers again.

Upon entering his room, he kicked the door shut behind him, quickly making his way to the bed to lay you down gently. Your lips were kiss-swollen, your eyes wide and waiting.

Normally, Sylus prided himself on his immense patience, but your sweet form beneath him was pushing him to his limits. He surged forward, peppering every inch of exposed skin with kisses, hiking up your gown to bunch around your hips. The warmth of his hands was so much more intense with the fabric out of the way. His lips were glued to your neck, nipping and sucking the sensitive skin until he found the spot that made you mewl. With renewed effort, he focused on that spot, leaving a dark bruise that would surely let everyone know you were his. 

He toyed with the waistband of your panties, hooking his fingers under it and then letting it snap back against your skin. He dragged his hand even lower, feeling the way you’d soaked a wet patch through the thin fabric. He finally gave your spit-covered neck a break, admiring the bruises already blooming. Pride is part of the reason he got cursed in the first place, and he still hadn't learned his lesson, that same vice swelling in his chest as he watched the way you panted for breath, already more worked up than anyone had probably ever made you, knowing he was the one to bring you to this point. 

Fuck, you were just so goddamn pretty, even more so when you were under him like this. He prodded at your leaking hole through your cute little panties, cooing at you with faux sympathy. “You’re so wet, sweetie. Why don’t you let me clean you up, hm?”

With slow, deliberate movements, he slid your panties off in time with the maneuvering of his body, lower and lower until he was face to face with your bare pussy. 

“Sylus, what are you- ahh!” you moaned loudly, question interrupted when he licked a broad stripe up your dripping cunt, groaning at the taste. So good, you tasted so fucking good. He dived back in, lapping and slurping as much of you as he could, his hums of approval shooting vibrations through your overly sensitive cunt. You clenched your thighs around his head, the sensation of his tongue thrusting into you pulling moans and gasps from your lips.

All Sylus could think about was how to coax more of your sweet sounds out, alternating between pushing his tongue inside and suckling on the sensitive bud at the apex. You wound your hand through his hair, pulling for some sort of stability. The sting of having his hair pulled only spurred him on. With renewed vigor, he pushed a finger into your gummy walls, then a second, curling them as he moved them in and out. It was so much that you were practically screaming his name. You’d never even been kissed before today, much less experienced such ecstasy. Your back was arching against the sheets, your hips canting upward, seeking more of his tongue, his fingers, everything he was willing to give you.

Sylus’ eyes peering up at you with all the conviction of a devotee praying at an altar was the final push you needed for your pleasure to reach a crescendo. Your legs clamped around Sylus’ head as your body writhed under his continued onslaught, his deft tongue lapping up everything your body would give him until you were pulling his hair for even a modicum of relief from the overstimulation.

He reluctantly pulled away, his breath coming in huffs and his face smeared with the evidence of your arousal. His attention was utterly captivated by the sight of your blissed-out expression, your eyes watery with unshed tears, and he almost came untouched at the mere fact that he was the one responsible for your current state, and he took immense pride in that.

He reached towards you to cup your face, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Would you like to continue, princess, or shall we stop here?” he asked. 

You could only stare dumbly, still trying to pull your head back down to earth from the high he had brought you to. You wanted it. You wanted him, and you don't think you'd ever have enough of him after this. As his words processed, you nodded, the only response your cottony mind could manage.

“Words, your highness. I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you want. I’ll give you whatever it is you desire. You need only ask for it.” 

Warmth flooded your face, and the sincerity of his voice only endeared you further to the king. You hesitated, somewhat shy at verbalizing such a coarse desire. Swallowing thickly, you answered him properly this time. “You. I want you.”

Sylus groaned at your admission, his cock throbbing in its confines. “You already have me,” he whispered reverently, almost in disbelief that his affections were returned. A betrothal would make you his legally, but he wanted everything: your mind, body, and heart surrendered to him the same way he had already surrendered his to you.

He wasted no time unfastening his pants and freeing his aching length, the tip raw and leaking. You eyed it warily as he leaned over you and braced his cock at your entrance. With a final glance at you to be certain that you were sure, he began to push in with as much tenderness as he could muster, his self-control fraying with every quiver of your cunt and every whine that escaped your lips.

Your breath hitched at the intrusion, the blunt head of his cock pushing further and further into you until his hips were pressed flush against yours. The new sensation of being so thoroughly filled was enough to have your head spinning before he’d even started moving. 

“Is this alright?” Sylus asked, his voice strained with the effort of keeping still. 

A breathy “uh-huh” was the best you could muster. Sylus would have chuckled at how you were already fucked out, but truthfully, he wasn't far behind you. His hands drifted from their place on your hips to your thighs to pull your legs snugly around his waist. With his body weight keeping you securely pinned beneath him, he pulled out until only the head of his cock remained and thrusted back in languidly, savoring the way your body accepted his, your tight walls clenching around him tightly. 

It took every ounce of his self-control to not let go of all his inhibitions and lavish you with all the carnal attention you could handle, until the only thing you could do was moan his name. Having you like this was a privilege he had begun to think would never be his, but here you were, staring up at him as he worked your body, his thick cock splitting you open and his tongue laving over the soft skin of your throat, the proximity allowing him to hear every gasp and whimper and moan in perfect clarity.

In his impatience, Sylus had neglected to properly undress, a fact he thoroughly lamented now that your fingernails were raking down his clothed back. How he would love for his body to bear the undeniable proof of how good he made you feel. Next time, he supposed. For now, though, he was content to watch you fall apart more and more with every deep thrust into your weeping pussy.

You were so close, he could feel it in the way you clenched around him. His own peak was rapidly approaching; you just felt too good around him, but he was determined to make you cum before he reached his own end. With a deft thumb, he began to rub sensual circles over your sensitive nub, the added sensation making you squeal and tighten your legs around his waist, pulling him in even deeper.

You came undone once again with a shrill cry of his name as the ecstasy coursed through your veins. Sylus’ hips continued to snap into yours as he chased his own high, his pace beginning to falter as the need to release built inside him. Grunts rumbled in his chest and spilled from his lips with every thrust into your pulsing heat. He was so close, and the thought of filling you up, marking you as his, spurred him on, but this tryst was already more of a risk than either of you should have taken. He was already tempting fate enough as is.

He reluctantly pulled out of you, using his hand to stroke himself to completion, his cum painting your folds a creamy white as he groaned out your name. Not “your highness,” not “princess,” but your name. A title so much more intimate than that of your status. Something only those closest to you had the privilege of using. He panted above you, his pale skin flushed and pupils blown out, solely focused on you. If he got this worked up when you were practically still fully clothed, he wondered if he’d last at all the first time he sees you completely bare. For now, though, he pressed chaste kisses across your jawline, compliments spilling freely between each one. “Beautiful” kiss “stunning” kiss “perfect” kiss “mine.” He finally pressed his lips to yours softly after his claim, both of you completely melting into the single kiss that somehow felt almost more intimate than even your prior activities.

You were completely worn out, and exhaustion was quickly taking over. Sylus, always astutely in tune with your body’s needs, smiled fondly at your sleepy form. He rose from the bed, telling you he’d be right back before entering the ensuite bathroom and returning with a wet cloth. He made sure you were clean and comfortable in one of his extra shirts, the material dwarfing you in a way that sent protective pangs through Sylus’ heart. 

He crawled into bed next to you, pulling you flush against his now-bare chest. He pressed a chaste kiss into your hairline, whispering a quiet goodnight.

While the two of you were wrapped up in each other and sleeping soundly, a red-faced, flustered maid hurried away as quietly as she could to tell the others the juiciest piece of gossip since a butler had been found to be having relations with not just a maid but also a stableboy.

There had already been talk about the two of you. It had started the second you’d requested a set of men’s clothes and refused to open the door any more than necessary, concealing the rest of your room from prying eyes (you were no fool, and the servants weren’t quite as discreet as they believed themselves to be). Shortly after that peculiar request, King Sylus, who had been missing for the better part of two months, reappeared in the palace from seemingly nowhere and with little explanation. And it did not escape the notice of those who worked closely with you that Mr. Crow was suddenly gone, but surely the two events were unrelated; it would be preposterous to link the two, even if the bird and the king shared certain similarities.

As your interactions with the silver-haired man increased, so too did the servants’ speculation of the exact nature of your relationship. After all, their princess was as pretty as a peach, and the foreign king was certainly easy on the eyes. They all knew it was bound to happen; it was just a matter of when. There was even a betting pool on when the inevitable finally happened, and this pleasantly smug little maid who was fortunate enough to be wandering down the halls at just the right time would be the one to announce the winner. 

She chuckled to herself. Margaret would be furious that she lost by only three days. She rushed into the servants' hall, where many of her fellows were gathered around eating, conversing, and generally merry-making. Her giddy demeanor and swift entry drew the attention of those closest to the door. “We have a winner!” she cheered. This, naturally, drew everyone’s attention to her, all of them asking their questions at once. How did she know? Was she sure it was them? Who bet it would only take two weeks?

She explained quickly. The head housekeeper had sent her to do her final check on the visiting king to ensure he was comfortable and did not require anything before the servants retired for the night. Instead, she was met with a chorus of moans and grunts and the sound of skin on skin that only got louder the more she neared the door of his room. And certainly it was you in there with him. There was no one else in the palace that “princess” or “your highness” could refer to. 

Squeals and giggles alike filled the room from the younger servants, while those who had lost the betting pool groaned while reluctantly handing over their hard-earned funds to the victor. From that point on, you began to notice that many of the palace staff would sport flushed cheeks and the occasional suppressed grin when they saw you. And not only that, but every time you were with Sylus, it was as if whispers followed you, but when you’d turn to the source, all you would see was an empty doorway with the edge of a skirt swishing just out of view.

Sylus had only chuckled, pulling you into his lap and whispering conspiratorially in your ear. “I think they know, kitten.” You had whined into his shoulder to hide your face, embarrassment washing over you. This, of course, had only made him laugh harder, mirth coloring his tone when he spoke again. “If you can’t handle even this little bit of gossip, how are you going to handle it when we’re married and talk of heirs begins, hm? Then they’ll really know.”

You had smacked him on the chest, huffing about how improper this line of conversation was. “Certainly no more improper than what we’ve already done,” he teased.

That, too, provided even more fodder for the servants’ late-night talks, but nothing had them going near as much as your wedding night.

“Did you see how pretty her dress was?” gushed one.

“Yes! And the way he looked at her!” replied another. 

“I want a man to look at me like that,” grumbled one of the cooks.

“Yeah, yeah, who cares, doesn’t anyone appreciate the flower arrangements? Grew those myself, you know,” boasted a gardener, who was now being glared at by the cook. 

One of the guards nudged the comrade sitting next to him. “Think those two are having fun right now?” he asked, grinning ear to ear, his implications obvious. He had no idea how right he was. 

 -𓅨-

“Sy- oh!” you cried out, his cock pistoning in and out of your sopping pussy at a furious pace. The second the two of you were behind closed doors, and finally away from the celebration, he had wasted no time in stripping you of your ornate gown, his lips crashing onto yours with a hunger for you that he would never fully satisfy. From the moment he had seen you, his gorgeous bride, walking down the aisle, his composure had formed the first hairline cracks, which only deepened and spread with every small interaction: exchanging the rings that would bind you to each other forever, the kiss that sealed the union, his hand on your lower back as he guided you through the throngs of people congratulating you on your marriage, all of it was lighting a fire in him he couldn’t put out. Not in public. The cherry atop it all was Prince Xavier’s irritated face in the crowd.

Sylus took great satisfaction that it was he who had you face down in the pillows, bringing you to the gates of heaven over and over, and that that audacious little prince would never touch you thanks to the efforts of yours truly. 

The sight of your bare back and your hands fisting the sheets was for his eyes only. The way your ass jiggled with every thrust and the way you writhed beneath him, completely pinned with his legs on either side of yours and his weight pressing into you, for only him to experience. And the way you moaned and cried out his name was for his ears only.

Your name spilled freely from his lips, your proper title forgotten and permanently replaced with “my wife” in Sylus’ frenzied mind. He leaned his body over yours, close enough for his heaving breaths to brush against your face. He trailed a hand across your delicate skin until his palm was pressed flush against your abdomen. “Do you -ngh!- feel me, my love? Feel how deep your husband’s cock is?” 

You nodded feverishly. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes, Sylus, it’s- ah!- so much!”

“Oh my poor wife,” he cooed, faux condescension dripping from his words. “Can’t take it? Is it too much for you? Should I stop?” Before you could even register his words, he had fully stilled above you.

“No! Don’t stop, please!” you begged, the sudden loss of pleasure somehow more overwhelming than the reception of it.

Sylus groaned, and his cock twitched inside of your tight heat. “What’s wrong, sweetie? I thought it was too much?”

“Not enough. Need more. Please, Sylus, husband, I need you.”

Sylus growled, heat rushing straight to where you were joined. He could bear it no longer. He had waited far too long as it is. His hips rutted into you with a ferocity that spoke of his insatiable greed. His panting breath and grunts mingled with your own moans and cries of pleasure.

Just a bit more, and he’d again feel the nirvana of your cunt pulsing around him. With the same hand that had been pressing into you, he snaked his fingers lower, deft digits rubbing tight circles on your clit. You howled at the added stimulation, hurtling towards the edge that Sylus was so eager to bring you to. “Cum for me, my wife,” he rasped. “Let go.”

With a shrill cry of his name, you were finally pushed to the pinnacle, Sylus following shortly after, his own orgasm triggered by yours. This time, he gave no thought to pulling out of you. His hot cum filled you as his orgasm washed over him. His grunts were low and rough in your ears, so delightfully sinful, and his free arm locked around your waist, holding your body to his tightly as he continued to release into you. He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to your throat and shoulders, whatever skin he could comfortably reach, as you both came down from your highs.

You did your best to separate your mind from your body. Physically, you had a sweaty man rutting on top of you. Mentally, your mind drifted to your evening plans. You had to prepare more “extract” as soon as possible. Another poor housewife had sought you out for aid. Another good-for-nothing husband who couldn’t so much as treat their wife as a person, much less an equal. The bruises she sported were more than enough proof of her husband’s unsavory tendencies. 

Your attention was drawn back to the sweaty man above you. A few strategically timed gasps and moans on your part, and the patron finally reached his end. Your pleasure was, of course, no concern of his. This was a brothel, not a honeymoon suite. Not that you had ever been interested in any of the men that passed through here for physical pleasure anyway. High prices meant the only ones who could afford a night were those in high positions—ergo, older men who had well established themselves in their careers. 

As such, it was rare for your company to be requested bought for more than intellectual or artistic entertainment. 

Several days and one dead husband later, you again found yourself leading a man to your chambers. You knew the drill, and so you didn't waste time once in the privacy of your room. Those who paid so handsomely for this service always wanted to get right to it. Children and dogs exercise more self-control than the men you’d see. However, you hadn’t even removed your outer robe, only getting so far as uncovering your shoulders, when the man’s smooth voice interrupted you.

“Impatient, are you?” he asked, the teasing lilt to his voice a sharp contrast to his rigid posture.

You shrugged your robe back on and crossed your arms across your chest. You didn't miss the way his eyes were drawn to the way the movement accentuated your breasts. “In all my time here, I think you're the only man who has wanted me to keep my clothes on.”

He huffed. “Now wait a moment, I didn't say that.” He leaned in close, his breath fanning across your face. “Just that I don’t want to rush my time with such a beautiful woman. Why not a game first? Get to know each other, hm?”

Truthfully, you were taken aback, but not displeased. Not at all. Especially not with a man who looked like him. If he wanted to spend more quality time with you, then you certainly weren't going to argue, not if it meant you got to stare at his handsome face. He was obviously military, based on his uniform, but those violet eyes and strong build had caught your attention the second the madam introduced him as a customer. 

You nodded. “Do you have a game in mind?”

He looked at you thoughtfully before deciding. “Go.”

You gave him a small, playful smile. “I should have known that a military man would pick a strategy game.”

“Am I that easy to read?” he asked, watching you pull out the board from where it had been stashed. 

“Maybe just a little,” you answered, handing him the bowl of black stones.

He chuckled as he took his place across from you. “If that's the case, then I think the emperor might need to reconsider my position. A colonel is no good if his enemies can predict his moves.” He placed the first stone.

“Do you consider me an enemy, Colonel?” Your turn.

“Of course not. An opponent, sure—” he gestured at the board with its smattering of black and white stones, “but certainly not an enemy.” Another stone.

“Then what the emperor doesn’t know won't kill him.”

“The emperor happens to be a dear friend of mine, so I sure hope not.”

Your head jerked up. You knew it was a possibility that he had been directly involved in the new emperor taking the throne after usurping the last one, but you hadn’t expected him to confirm the suspicion.

He noticed the shift in your demeanor. “Does that bother you?”

“I’m not sure how I feel about that. Just… shocked, I suppose,” you answered honestly. 

“That’s fair. But I do hope it doesn’t distract you from the game any more than it has already.” He grinned, his voice more than a little smug as he captured one of your stones. 

You huffed through your nose, admittedly irritated that you had lost concentration on the game so quickly. Little did you know that petulant huff and the scrunch of your eyebrows as you refocused on the game at hand were about to be key in gaining the upper hand over the colonel. You were gorgeous; there was no question about that. Caleb’s pockets wouldn't be as light as they were now if you were an ordinary lower rank. But there was something endearing in the way you were determined to play a good game.

Every hum as you planned your next move and every groan when he took another stone went straight to his cock. He could ask you to bed at whatever point he wanted, he knew. But frankly, he was almost certain you would never forgive him if he cut the game short. He had long since decided that this would not be his only visit, not when the company was this good. Granted, it would be quite some time until he could afford any more than another game or a tea service, but he would be content with that. At least he hoped so. It was easier to assume such things when he hadn't yet experienced you. It was maddening how much you had already gotten under his skin, and all you had done was play a board game and tease him. He felt like every other fool who gets too attached to courtesans, and he couldn't even bring himself to care.

The game was drawing to a close, with Caleb having been thoroughly distracted for most of it. Even so, he’d still managed to come out the victor.

“Winners usually get a prize, right? Tell me, what are you going to reward me with?” The grin on his face told you exactly what he had in mind.

“But I thought you wanted me to keep my clothes on, Colonel.”

“I also told you that that was just until we got to know each other a little better, which I do believe we’ve done.”

Without answering, you began collecting the stones and returning them to their respective bowls. He watched the way you meticulously sorted the stones, imagining what those nimble fingers would feel like on his body. His eyes never left your figure as you stood to put the board away. While your back was turned to him, he stood from his seated position and walked behind you, pressing the hard plane of his chest against your back and settling his hands on your hips.

You froze where you stood, feeling the warmth of his toned body seep into yours. He didn’t say anything, only nuzzled his face into your neck to place light kisses up your throat until he reached the junction between your jaw and ear.

“I think it’s time you continued what you started earlier,” he rasped in your ear as he tugged on the tie that held your robe shut. You exhaled shakily as you obliged, letting the outer robe fall away. He used his grip on your hips to urge you to turn around. “Beautiful,” he purred.

You averted your gaze to the side, your face heating up. You weren't a stranger to receiving compliments, but you couldn’t remember the last time a man had bestowed one upon you when he wasn’t already grabbing handfuls of your flesh and taking what he wanted from you. But Caleb did, and he wasn't having any of your bashfulness. He caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger, directing your face back to his. He was closer than you anticipated, and he took full advantage of your brief moment of weakness, pressing his plush lips against yours.

You made a surprised noise that he swallowed eagerly, pushing his tongue into your mouth and tasting every bit of you that he could. Without separating, he hoisted you up. You got the hint and wrapped your legs around his slim waist. He didn't even struggle to hold your weight as he carried you to your bed. When his knees hit the edge, he laid you down gently, far more so than you’d expected from a man who had devoured your kisses as if he would die without them.

Above you, like this, he seemed even larger. You pitied the soldiers that had faced him in battle, but it was hard to continue that line of thought when he was using his size to thoroughly pin you to the bed as he removed your clothes, exposing your bare body to his hungry eyes.

His hands stroked your newly exposed skin reverently, worshiping every inch. He dipped his head down to lick a stripe up your neck, pulling back just slightly to blow cool air onto the wetness, making you shiver. The anticipation and eagerness to have him do something, anything, had your head swimming. You couldn't focus on anything except the remarkably handsome man who was now nipping and suckling your tender skin, doing his damndest to make sure that you would have something to remember him by long after tonight, to be sure that you would think of him every time you looked into a mirror.

You could feel the way he smirked into your skin as you squirmed beneath him, rubbing your thighs together for even a modicum of relief. “Patience, pretty girl. I want to take my time with you.”

“Colonel, please,” you whined.

“Use my name,” he said. “Came here tonight to forget about my job. C’mon, pretty, let me hear you say it.”

“Caleb,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. Your eyes were wide as you gazed up at him, breath coming in heavy pants. He had barely touched you, and yet you were already this worked up.

He groaned. “Such a good girl, aren't you?” Caleb reconnected his lips to yours, his soft lips parting yours as his hands groped at your body, paying special attention to your breasts and tweaking your nipples. You whined into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, his hands continuing their journey down your supple skin.

He swiped a finger through your sopping folds and pulled away from your lips just enough to tease you. “You're soaked, pretty girl.

“Then do something about it,” you quipped, your brain officially incapable of thinking of anything other than having Caleb inside you, whether it was his fingers, cock, or even his tongue. You just wanted him to make you feel good.

He laughed, and his radiant smile completely stunned you. What was such a gorgeous man doing paying for sex when he could probably have people pay him for a night? Whatever his reasons, you didn't care. You chose to consider this a blessing—one you would happily accept.

“I plan to, don't you worry. Is this what you want?” he asked, slowly dragging a finger up and down your weeping slit, but never quite pushing in.

“Ngh—! Yes! More, please, Caleb!”

He dropped his head to the crook of your shoulder, a shuddering groan rumbling through his chest. “Fuck, baby, when you sound like that, how is a man supposed to be a gentleman?”

“I don't want you to be a gentleman, I want you—”

You didn't even get to finish your sentence before his finger was plunging inside of you.

You squealed at the sudden intrusion, but he wasn't going to hear any complaints from you. The drag of his knuckles on your inner walls felt heavenly, the pleasure amplified when he used his thumb to rub small circles on your clit.

You moaned his name, cupping the back of his neck with one hand as he mouthed at your neck, the other gripping the bicep of the arm he held himself up with. 

He added a second finger, curling them both to hit that spongy spot inside you that had you seeing stars. As his fingers thrusted in and out, his thumb applied more pressure to your clit. 

“Wait, wait, Caleb, I’m gonna cum!”

He propped himself up more, his pretty purple eyes meeting yours. “Do it. I want to see you make a mess on me. Wanna hear you scream my name, so give it to me, pretty.”

His filthy words were the final push you needed. Your back arched off the bed, your chest pressing into his as your cunt spasmed around his fingers. Even so, he never stopped moving, allowing you to ride out your high until you were nearly crying from overstimulation.

“There you go,” Caleb murmured, brushing hair away from your sweaty face as he slowed his movements to a stop. “Did so good for me.”

You were panting, desperately trying to catch your breath.

“Don't get too comfortable. We're not done. Not by a long shot.”

He rose from the bed to strip his uniform, his toned chest now in full view. You were again struck with the thought, “What on earth is he doing in a brothel?” But as soon as he dropped his pants, all rational thought flew from your mind. That wasn't going to fit. No way.

If Caleb noticed your internal dilemma, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he resumed his position above you, locking eyes with you, his expression asking what he didn't verbalize. “Is this okay? Do you want to stop?”

You pulled him into a gentle kiss with both hands cupping the sides of his face. Without breaking the kiss, you trailed a hand down his first chest and abs until your hand was grasping his stiff and leaking cock.

Caleb whined into your mouth, his hips bucking into your hand and catching your leaking entrance where you had lined him up. He took the hint, pushing his cock into you in one slow thrust, only stopping when his hips were flush with yours. You took a shuddering breath, his size filling you so thoroughly you felt like you were seconds away from coming apart at the seams, and he hadn't even started moving yet. Caleb didn't seem like he was faring any better; his breathing was shallow, and his face flushed.

“You feel so fucking good,” he moaned, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled out just to thrust back in fully, cockhead buried deep within your pretty pussy.

“Ah—!” You cried out. He set a quick pace, pummeling your insides with his brutal thrusts. Watching the way Caleb’s face contorted in pleasure was almost doing as much for you as his cock. You turned your face to the side, not wanting to be pushed over the edge this soon, but Caleb wasn't having it. He grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him. He chuckled slightly as he spoke. “Oh, no, baby. You’re gonna watch while I fuck you. If you look away from me, I’ll stop, and you don't want that, do you?” To prove his point, he stopped moving entirely, cock still nestled in your silky walls.

The immediate loss of such mouthwatering ecstasy had you begging and pleading for him to keep going. He almost laughed at your desperation, but he was every bit as desperate as you were. He pulled out slowly, slamming back in and picking up an animalistic pace, instincts overruling every ounce of self-control.

You were panting heavily, the girth of his cock stretching you out so good that all you could do was moan his name. All it took was a few expert touches to your clit before you were spasming around him, body tense with your release. He didn’t stop, fucking you through it until you were crying from the overstimulation. He slowed when he saw the tear tracks down your face. “Are you okay? Was that too much?” he asked, concern etched on his face.

You nodded. “That was perfect, I just need a second.” You laughed softly, still out of breath. God, your smile was mesmerizing. 

The more you came down from your high, the more and more aware you became of the fact that Caleb was still buried deep in your cunt, still painfully hard and throbbing. “You didn’t finish,” you pouted.

“You needed a minute,” he said nonchalantly, as if any other man would have done that for you.

“Oh,” was all you could muster, eyes wide as you stared up at him. He really did surprise you at every turn. “Well, I’m okay now if...” you trailed off, once again averting your eyes from his intense gaze.

Without a word, he pulled out of you completely. Your head snapped to look at him, flabbergasted.

“Turn over,” Caleb says, eyes clouding with want. Knowing you were okay to continue, his lust was reaching a boiling point. 

You did as he said, and his hands took their place on your hips as he pushed his length back inside in one fluid stroke. Your dual moans blended, his hips slapping against your ass from behind. He was moaning freely, too lost in the feeling of your walls clamping around him. His hips stuttered, and he began to babble. “You feel so—ah! S-so fucking good, baby, hnng!”

Still hypersensitive from your previous orgasms, it didn't take much to have you on the precipice once again. This time, though, Caleb went over it with you. His warm seed filled you so completely that it leaked out around the edges of where he was still pumping into you, prolonging the euphoria you each felt until it fizzled into nothing more than small sparks.

He pulled out of you slowly, his cum leaking out of your abused hole. He flopped onto the bed beside you, pulling you snuggly into his arms to lay your head on his chest. You were both panting, and you could feel his rapid pulse under your cheek where your head lay. His hand rubbed your back soothingly, his warm palm easing your aching muscles.

“Earlier,” you started, still somewhat breathless. “You said you came here to forget about your job. Your uniform is clearly military. Is it something—”

“Nothing like what you're thinking, so don't worry your pretty little head about it. Just an assignment that’s got me running around in circles.”

You looked up at him curiously. “What’s the assignment?”

He hesitated before speaking, not sure just how much he was allowed to share. After some consideration, he decided it wouldn't do any harm to tell you. “Sy—The emperor— said that there have been a string of mysterious deaths in the city. I’m here to figure out why. I’ve talked to all the widows and anyone associated with the men who died, but so far, nothing. It’s frustrating feeling like I’m not making progress, you know?”

Mysterious deaths, huh? You had a fairly good idea exactly which deaths he was talking about.

“What if it’s just an illness?” Maybe if you directed his attention elsewhere, he wouldn't catch on to the real reason. Poison. 

“I don't think so. If it were something like that, wouldn't their wives and the people around them have caught it? Surely at least one of them, right? But not a single person they typically interacted with was affected. I’m not saying foul play, but I’m not ruling it out either.”

You hummed, but otherwise didn't respond, mulling his words over in your head. He couldn't possibly trace anything back to you, right? The only witnesses to the deaths were the wives, and backstabbing you would also incriminate them.

“Hypothetically, let's say it is foul play. What do you know about the men who died? Any reason they could be targets?”

Caleb narrowed his eyes as he directed his attention down to see that you had adjusted your head to look up at him, eyes glistening in the light. Fuck, you were pretty. Looking at him like that, he could almost go again if it weren't for the subject matter killing the mood. “Why are you so interested in this?”

Because I don't want to get caught, duh. “Because this city is my home, and people are dying. I want to know if I or anyone I care about could be at risk. Plus, it helps to talk with someone else when you're stumped. Get a fresh pair of eyes, you know?” If only the colonel knew just how close he was to both the culprit and the means of death. That little, unassuming plot of purple flowers in a forgotten corner of the garden, tended carefully by your own glove-protected hands. Given that it was a generally unkempt area and that one of the girls had once seen a snake there, it was heavily avoided. Not to mention he’d have to do some serious mental gymnastics to even begin to suspect you.

He nodded slowly. “Would you be open to allowing me to pick your brain when I need another point of view? Perhaps over a game of chess next time? Maybe you'll actually beat me.” He smirked down at you, smug with his victory over you.

“You just got lucky. I won't lose to you again. And you never answered my question. Who died?”

Caleb sighed, trying to recall the men whose families he had spoken to. “Um, there was a traveling merchant, a restaurant owner, a potter, and a scholar.”

The merchant cheated on his wife during his travels. The restaurant owner was a drunk who drank more of his wares than he sold. The potter left his wife black and bruised for knocking over a vase. And the scholar was a narcissist who made sure his wife knew that he thought he was far superior to her. 

“Do you know anything else about them? Have you considered that their deaths might not be connected at all?”

“I have, but it would be one hell of a coincidence for all four to just up and die. None were old enough for it to have just been old age. I’ve talked to the widows, but none of them offered any useful information. Same story with all of them. They had dinner with their husband, went to bed, and he was dead by morning.” Wrong. They would have died painful deaths. You remembered the livestock where you grew up. It took a long time to realize that the reason so many were dying was because of a harmless-looking flower in the fields. 

“If you don't mind, I’d rather not use this time to talk about dead men,” Caleb said, readjusting his and your position so that he was spooning your smaller frame. His body was so warm, and yours was so tired from earlier that, before you knew it, you were drifting off to sleep.

When you woke the next morning, Caleb was already gone. You frowned but knew he had important business to attend to. It just so happened that that business was also your business, albeit on the opposite side of things. His presence didn't bode well, but all that meant was that you would have to be even more careful moving forward.

Caleb had figured that going to the brothel would kill two birds with one stone: relieve his pent-up stress and also give him an idea of the women who worked there. But wow, you had taken his breath away. It was no accident that he chose your brothel. A particularly helpful acquaintance of the restaurant owner said there was a brothel in town that had had a patron die of mysterious causes. Same story. He had been fine that night and was dead by morning. It wasn't much to go by, but it was more of a lead than he’d had previously. Presently, he was in the local inn he was staying at for the duration of the investigation, nursing a cup of tea, wondering if there really was any connection between your brothel and the deaths. He tapped his index finger against the rim of the delicate cup, deep in thought. You had seemed very interested, but, as you said, you lived there, so your reasoning made sense. Still… you hadn't just asked about the deaths themselves; you had wanted to know his working theories. He was grasping at straws, he knew. Actively looking for a reason to visit again.

It was about two weeks before Caleb waltzed back into the brothel, fully intending to make good on his request to pick your brain —two weeks and still no significant headway. Sylus had checked in once already, and Caleb had had to tell him that he was no closer to figuring this out than when he’d first started. He was frustrated and slightly ashamed, but Sylus seemed a little too frazzled to really care. A newborn will do that to you, Caleb figured. A prince this time. The heir that Sylus’ advisors wouldn't stop hounding him about. Tiny little thing, but so was the princess when she was born. It was especially amusing since Sylus was such a large man, and yet both of his children were so little. Caleb smiled to himself, thinking about his honorary niece and nephew while he waited for the madam of the house to take his payment.

The brothel was a social space, and instead of your bedroom, you were this time in the communal area dedicated to hosting guests. Mostly on account of him not paying for anything more. The other women were pretty, but the second his eyes locked onto your figure, there wasn't anything that could draw his attention away. You had played only one game, had spent only one night together, and yet you had stubbornly remained at the forefront of his mind ever since. 

He took the seat across from you as a younger girl brought out the Go board. “No chess?” he asked, one of his eyebrows raised. “Didn't think you'd be eager to lose again.”

You took your bowl of stones, answering, “I’ve been practicing with the other ladies. I won't lose again.” You were oozing confidence, and damn did it look good on you. Caleb smiled, a real smile. “Show me what you’ve got then, pretty girl.”

The game progressed slowly, with him telling you how he still couldn't find any meaningful connection between the dead men and how it was beginning to keep him up at night, not knowing what had happened to them.

“If it’s stressing you out so much, it might help to know that none of those men are worth this amount of effort.”

Caleb’s head shot up, his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean? What do you know?”

“Did some asking. You were vague when you were telling me who died, so I wanted to find out who exactly. They weren’t virtuous men in life, but people tend to avoid speaking ill of the dead. That’s likely why you didn't get much. Such awful men likely had a lot of people who wished them harm. This is, of course, assuming it's murder and that they didn’t all die of separate things.” You placed your white stone down, collecting Caleb’s black ones. He huffed at the move, staring at the board, trying to determine the most efficient placement for his next play. When he answered you, his eyes were still trained on the board, but his thoughts were on your words. How much else did you know? He had a feeling you weren't telling him everything. The game continued in time with the conversation.

“Awful, you say? How so?”

“Well, the merchant got around, so to speak. He also spread disease around. Enough said. The restaurant owner had a drinking problem and frequently became violent. He also had money problems as a result and wasn't reliable for paying back his debt. The potter had a quick temper. And the scholar was arrogant and condescending. Not well-liked.”

“I see. And why would you be privy to this information, but I wouldn't be freely given it until now?”

“My face is known here. I’m seen as more trustworthy. I also entertain patrons of the brothel who tell me the goings-on outside, so I’ve heard stories of all of them.” You shrugged like the answer was obvious.

Caleb scowled. You assumed it was finding out that people were intentionally uncooperative, which was partially true, but he also disliked the thought of you entertaining other men. He knew it was your occupation, and with the way brothels worked, it’s not as if you could just up and leave, but he didn't like that other men had had you the same way he did. If they could afford it, that is. That night with you hadn't come cheap, but the money from the previous emperor had been nothing short of a small fortune.

“And what would be your next course if you were in my position?”

“Well, I guess that depends. Do you still suspect murder? Could be that the merchant succumbed to his disease, or the restaurant owner to his alcoholism. If I’m not mistaken, then long-term anger like the potter experienced affects the heart. The scholar may very well have been intentionally killed, but the others could have rational explanations.”

Caleb sighed and began to rub his temples. This was all so confusing. You weren't wrong. There could be other explanations. But the timing is what was throwing him. These men had died in fairly quick succession. Something was nagging at him that this wasn’t right; he just didn't know what yet.

You could see that he was deep in thought. It was his move, but he was staring at the board blankly, not focused on it at all, his mind elsewhere. You called his name softly to get his attention. No answer. You tried again, this time laying your hand atop his where it rested on the table. His head jerked up, violet eyes meeting yours. “It’s your move,” you informed him.

“Let’s say it is murder,” he started, finally placing a stone on the board. You frowned. He was beginning to corner you. “Assuming that’s true, they would have all been killed in the same way and, taking that a step farther, by the same person.” Fuck. You were getting cornered in both Go and reality. “Do you know if any of their social circles overlapped? Could they have all made an enemy of the same man?”

You pretended to think about it. This could work for you. He’s looking for someone with a personal vendetta against all of them. Someone who doesn't exist. 

“It’s a possibility, but I can't say anyone comes to mind. After all, I didn't know any of them personally.”

You watched the way Caleb nodded. “I’ll see what I can find out.” Much like last time, he had reached a point of not wanting to discuss the case anymore. He asked you all sorts of questions. Where you were from, how you came to be in your line of work, how long you had been there, and even your favorite food. He seemed to want to know everything. In return, you asked the same, learning that he was a childhood friend of both the emperor and empress. You got the whole story on why you suddenly had a new empire and restructured government a few years ago. You could only dream of that kind of devotion. 

You continued the games the entire time, and you found yourself genuinely enjoying his company. You didn't have to pretend and put on an act as you did with a lot of the patrons that frequented it. It was refreshing. If only you weren't the very culprit he was assigned to find. 

The weeks flew by with regular visits from Caleb, and before you knew it, you were eagerly looking forward to the next time you would see him. Without discussing it, you had both begun keeping score of your games. So far, you led the score in Go, but he led in chess. Unfortunately, his visits never extended past a game or tea. You’d try to tempt him into spending more for the night, but no luck. He was adamant that he would not give in until the case was solved. One night together was enough to have his thoughts wandering to you when he was supposed to be cross-referencing accounts of the four men for any overlap. He could only imagine how bad it would get if he indulged in you the way you both wanted to.

But if Caleb kept holding himself back, he might never get the chance. Another week of dead ends, and all he wanted was to have tea with the pretty courtesan who had been occupying his every waking thought. Now here he was, sitting across from you, staring at you, dumbfounded.

“What?” he asked. He misheard you. It was a mean-spirited joke. Anything to make it not true.

“The madam came to talk to me earlier. There’s this man who comes from a wealthy family. He’s made a few offers to buy my contract, but no matter how many times I reject him, he always comes back with a higher offer. He just will not take “no” for an answer. According to the madam, he’s offering more than I’m worth, so she’s going to accept the offer.”

“Why can’t you just reject this offer, too?” Caleb was spiraling. He knew contract buyouts were part of the profession, but you were of a rank that it was near impossible for the average layman to afford so much as tea, much less pay your debt to the house. He didn't think he’d have to worry about you going anywhere, at least until he was able to get you out of there himself. 

“I bring in enough money for the house to have at least a little autonomy, but now he’s offering more than the madam can turn down. At the end of the day, it is her choice. I’m technically property of the house.”

Caleb clenched his jaw. He wasn't just angry; he was furious. He knew you weren't here of your own volition. The death of your father had left your family struggling for necessities. By selling you off to the brothel, your family had been given a large sum, and you had been trained in the arts.

“Who’s the man?” Caleb finally asked after getting himself in check.

“Some official’s son.” You shrugged, a small frown pulling at your lips. “He’s not much older than me, but I don’t think I’m the first courtesan he’s been interested in. From what I’ve heard, he has two other women at home but is still unmarried.”

You seemed almost unbothered by it all, and Caleb didn't know if that made it better or worse. On one hand, at least you weren’t distressed over it. On the other hand, he wanted you to care that he wouldn't see you anymore if the buyout went through. And it wouldn't. Not if he could get you to reveal a name.

“Ok, but who is he? I’m asking for a name, pretty girl.”

“Are you familiar with Magistrate Liu? His oldest son, Jian.”

Caleb nodded solemnly, the beginnings of a plan forming in his calculating mind.

Your potential suitor wasn’t nearly as difficult to get information on as the murdered men. People very readily complained about his blatant public misconduct. He was frequently intoxicated and disrespectful to his elders, starting fights with anyone he pleased just because of his father’s rank. Caleb was also helpfully informed that Jian’s father was on the brink of disowning his son altogether for the shame he was bringing to the family name. All it would take is a digression that the magistrate just couldn't ignore.

Caleb got his chance the next night. He had been told that Jian preferentially went to a particular tavern, and luck was on his side because there he was, seated at a table with a rowdy group of other young men. He entered the tavern, taking a seat at the same table without ordering anything. 

“Who the hell are you?” asked one of the younger men.

Caleb ignored him, instead addressing Jian directly. “This is how you waste your father’s hard-earned money? Drinking and buying women?”

Jian scowled as soon as the words registered in his inebriated mind. “What I do with the money my father allows me isn't any of your business,” he snarled, his infamous temper already getting the better of him.

Caleb maintained his small, polite smile as he goaded the man into an outburst. Preferably a violent one. “It’s only natural that I’m curious. Word gets around. You already have two courtesans at home and are trying to buy out a third. Is two not good enough? Are you so inadequate that you need multiple women to perform?”

“Shut up! The only reason you have any problem with me is because you can't afford a courtesan of your own!”

“That so?” Caleb cocked an eyebrow. “And pray tell, what makes you think you know anything about me? Unlike you, I don't have to pay for a woman’s company; I choose to.”

“You—!” Jian swung, his anger finally reaching a boiling point, and Caleb didn't do a thing to stop it. Jian was playing his part exactly as Caleb had hoped. Assault of a high-ranking military official, a lifelong friend of the emperor, and he was sure to ruin himself socially.

The shock of Caleb just accepting the hit and being nearly unfazed by it stopped Jian from continuing his assault. He looked around the table, gauging what they made of the situation, before fixing Caleb with a confused expression.

Caleb was rubbing his jaw, his violet eyes wild. “How would your father feel knowing his son was out starting fights with a colonel? Rumor has it that he’s already at his wits’ end with you. It would be such a shame if I had to tell him about it, wouldn't it?” Caleb was smiling now, but it didn't reach his eyes. It was menacing, promising that he meant every threat and more.

“What do you want from me?”

“Now you're catching on. I want you to withdraw your offer.”

“What offer? What the hell are you talking about?”

“That courtesan you're trying to buy out. Withdraw your offer.” Caleb wasn't asking; he was demanding, his tone leaving no room for interpretation.

“She’s just another whore—”

Caleb grabbed the man by his shirt, pulling him forward and emphasizing just how much bigger Caleb was than the other man. “Withdraw your offer. It’s not a request.”

For what was likely the first time in his pampered life, Jian looked truly afraid. His father’s influence wouldn't save him from the repercussions of both insulting and injuring a man who could likely personally report the incident to the emperor.

He scoffed, but acquiesced, trying to save face in front of the audience that the altercation had drawn. Caleb released Jian’s shirt and left without another word. If only these strange deaths were as easy to take care of as spoiled young men who had never worked a day in their lives.

Upon his next visit, he was thrilled to hear that the offer had been rescinded, not that he would directly admit to having anything to do with it.

“Did the madam tell you why it fell through?” he asked as innocently as he could.

“She said that he had changed his mind. He made so many other offers and was so determined that I can't help but wonder if someone intervened.” You gave him a knowing smirk, eyeing the fading bruise on his jaw.

He knew you knew, and he was entirely fine with that, so long as you kept looking at him like that. You were cute when you were smug. “Perhaps he realized two was already plenty,” Caleb suggested, as if he were truly clueless as to what the real reason was.

“Maybe so,” you agreed. Neither of you acknowledged it again after that, but you were certain Jian didn't just suddenly change his mind, and that a certain colonel did a little convincing. If you were being honest with yourself, you were becoming more and more fond of him with each visit, so much so that knowing he had prevented another man from claiming you was enough to fantasize about him being the one to get you out of the brothel. You wondered what it would be like for all of your evenings to be like this: having tea with a man who cared for more than just your body, who actually listened and cared when you spoke, who didn't treat conversation as a means to an end to get in your bed. As if that was even a possibility if they didn't pay for it.

You didn't realize you had gotten lost in your thoughts until Caleb was waving a hand in front of you. Heat rose to your cheeks, embarrassed that you had zoned out when technically you were working.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah! Yeah, sorry, um, just got distracted.” You fumbled to apologize. Difficult though it was, you tried to remember that his visits weren't just social hour with a friend; he was a patron of the house, and here you were not paying him any attention.

“You seem flustered. Do you want to go outside and get some air?” He asked, his brows pulled into a concerned expression.

“We can go to the gardens, but I’m not allowed to actually leave the grounds unless I’m doing a house call.”

He nodded in understanding before rising from his seat and offering you his arm. “That’s fine. Any time spent with you is alright with me.”

This was dangerous, and you knew it, but you couldn't stop yourself from feeling special whenever Caleb was around. He was bound to find out eventually that you were exactly who he was looking for, but until then, was it so wrong to indulge in his affection?

With your arm secured in his, you guided him to the lush courtyard. Cultivating the flowers was a hobby you and a few of the other girls were permitted when you had free time. Something to do that was just for you, not meant to impress anyone. “It’s beautiful,” Caleb reamrked.

You hummed in agreement. “The girls and I put a lot of work into it.” You were proud that all of the effort that was put into maintaining the space was getting recognition. 

Walking arm in arm with Caleb, discussing the flowers and their care, it felt peaceful, right. You were pointing out the asters and discussing how you wished you didn't have to regrow them each year when your name was called from behind you. You turned to see one of the girls still in training jogging towards you.

She was slightly breathless when she reached you. “Can you help me with my hair? The madam said it’s time to take customers myself, but…”

You hesitated, glancing over at Caleb, who released your arm from his, a silent gesture that told you he wouldn't mind your temporary absence. You smiled apologetically at him before agreeing to help her. 

While you were in her room, styling her hair into something befitting a courtesan, Caleb wandered around the garden, admiring the flowers and noting the ones he thought were prettiest to ask you about. The way your eyes lit up when you talked about plants rivaled even the most polished of swords. 

As he was walking around, he noticed an area of the garden tucked away from the rest, unkempt and wild with weeds and overgrowth. He made his way over, eyes drawn to a peculiarly shaped flower with brilliant purple blooms. He was reaching out to touch it when he heard your voice call out with an urgency he had never heard from you before. “Stop! Don’t touch those!”

He withdrew his hand quickly, eyeing the flowers suspiciously. “Why not?”

You faltered, unsure how to answer in a way that wouldn't bring suspicion to you. Might as well be honest. “They're dangerous. They used to grow in the fields back home, and sometimes the livestock would eat them. Usually resulted in death. I’m not really sure if they cause issues unless you eat them, but better safe than sorry, right?”

Caleb nodded, backing away a few steps from the tall stalks. “Why keep such a dangerous flower here?”

You turned your gaze to the patch of flowers, their petals as vibrant as ever. “They’re just too pretty not to keep.”

“I see,” he said, but he wasn't looking at the flowers anymore, his full attention instead directed to the courtesan with more to her than what was on the surface.

Two nights later, he was lying in bed, deep in the throes of denial. The pretty little courtesan he had spent so much time with, and had shared so much about the case and his theories with, had slept with was also his most likely suspect. He groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

After he left the brothel that day in the garden, he began sifting through the pieces of the case when it began to dawn on him: poison. They all died after having dinner with their wives. According to you, they were subpar men who were likely even worse husbands. Those flowers and your intense interest in the case…the way you always suggested that it might not be murder at all… He couldn't prove anything, but if he could make the connection between you and the wives, he could have potentially figured out the missing piece. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. And yet, what if it’s not you? Those flowers are accessible to anyone living in the brothel. If you had warned the others of toxicity, then any one of them could have been responsible. 

The next logical step was to visit the wives again and find out if they knew you. He was thorough in his questioning, searching for anything that could possibly connect you or at least someone else in the brothel. After hours of questioning, he had his answer, and everything began to fall into place.

The Liu family, the very same Lius that Jian belonged to, had hosted an event to celebrate the magistrate’s birthday. Those in attendance included all the men for various reasons. The owner of a restaurant that the magistrate was particularly fond of, to aid with food, a scholarly official with whom he worked, a potter who was a lifelong friend, and a merchant with whom he often had dealings and had begun to befriend. When he inquired about the entertainment provided for the night, he wasn’t even shocked to hear that courtesans were hired to showcase their talents and serve tea. He was even less surprised when he took that information back to the madam of the house you served to ask for a list of which courtesans were hired and found that you had indeed been there. A girl with both knowledge of and access to a deadly plant who had contact with the men and their wives. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and from what he had gathered about the men’s less-than-virtuous lifestyles being true, then who would have more motivation to kill than the women who had to live with them?

But now what? Arrest you? Given the nature of the charges you would receive, he’d have to reconcile himself to the fact that he’d probably never see you again. Not to mention what it would do to the brothel’s reputation. There were so many other ladies there that would suffer the consequences, likely being sold off to the highest bidder just to keep the doors open. That, or having to lower prices and extend contracts. It would be disastrous for everyone. Caleb sighed wearily. This was such a mess.

The next day came quickly, and the second the morning fog wore off, he made up his mind. It was a rash decision, and he would definitely have to pull some strings, but he would make it work. It was still early, and he had plenty of time to kill, so he made the short trip to the palace. This case had been a pain, but at least it was conveniently located. No need to worry about the long delivery time of letters when he could just request an audience with Sylus directly. This was definitely an abuse of his privilege, but if he was being honest with himself, he really didn't care. Not that Sylus had a leg to stand on, given he’d led a successful rebellion against the previous emperor and was now seated on his throne.

Now, standing in front of his longtime friend, he wasn't sure how to actually put his dilemma into words. At least Sylus couldn't berate him too harshly while he had his daughter seated on his lap. Thank god for small mercies. 

“What did you need to discuss with me so urgently? You’re always welcome, of course, but I’m afraid the other one isn’t sleeping, and my wife also needs me.” Ah. The new prince. Caleb could see the dark circles under his friend’s eyes, but he couldn't deny that the way he looked at his children was nothing short of adoration. If he could overthrow an empire for his wife, Caleb could only imagine what kind of force he would be for his kids.

“This case you’ve had me working on,” Caleb started. “I think they were poisonings.”

“There’s a ‘but’ to this, isn't there?” Sylsu asked knowingly.

Caleb nodded sheepishly. “So, there’s this woman.”

Sylus raised a brow, a smirk on his lips, and his voice amused. “You met a woman while investigating four deaths?” 

Caleb sent him a withering scowl. “I was stressed! She helped! Fill in the gaps yourself.”

His friend chuckled at his outburst, motioning for him to continue, and so he did. He recounted everything. How he had come to make your acquaintance (withholding the more savory details because of a little princess’ ears), how he had gone to you when he needed a new perspective, your interest in his progress in the case, the flowers, the party, and your connection, and even how he had intervened in your buyout.

Sylus listened patiently to the entire account, nodding and humming along periodically, his eyes thoughtful as he figured out what exactly it was that his friend was struggling with so much.

“You don't want to arrest her,” he said simply. Caleb’s lack of a verbal answer was enough for the emperor.

“So, you’ve grown quite fond of this woman, even went through all the trouble of making sure another man didn't take her from you, and, from the sounds of it, she did not aid in the deaths out of bloodlust. I’d be willing to turn a blind eye if you can figure out a way to ensure something like this doesn't happen again.”

For as long as it took him to figure out the deaths, Caleb wasn't actually stupid, just perhaps a little blinded by affection. He knew what Sylus was insinuating.

“Yeah, I get it. I was already planning on doing that, just wanted your opinion.” He informed Sylus.

“Good. I’ll take my leave then. You may stay as long as you’d like.” With that, he securely gathered the now-sleeping princess in his arms, presumably going to check on the empress and prince.

He mostly just wandered the grounds and joined Sylus and his family again for lunch, playing honorary uncle and conversing with both him and the empress, anything at all to kill time until the brothel opened its doors for the night.

Hours later, he stood in the entryway of the house, an obscenely heavy box in hand. The madam had been posted at the front, her eyes immediately drawn to the box in Caleb’s hands. Before she could ask questions, Caleb declared that he wished to make a purchase. He presented the box to the madam. “In full.”

“Of course,” she said, eyes wide when she opened the box to verify the contents. “Follow me, please.” She led him to a backroom that functioned as her office space. She gestured to a side table, telling Caleb he could set down his heavy load over there.

“If you wait here, I’ll go fetch her.” There was a teasing glint in both her eyes and her tone that Caleb didn't miss, and his own voice took on the same lilt when he responded.

“I didn't even say which girl.”

“Young man, you are a returning customer who has only ever requested one girl. But if there’s someone else—”

“No! No, you're right,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Thought so.”

You were seated at a table with a few of the other ladies when the madam found you.

You greeted her, and she wasted no time blindsiding you with the fact that there was a man here intending to buy out your contract. Your jaw dropped open in shock. How could she spring this on you so suddenly? Surely Jian wasn't coming back, right?

You looked around the table to see the other ladies looking just as confused as you. The madam bid you to follow her, and you rose hesitantly from your seat. She didn't answer any of your questions the entire way downstairs and to the little back office. Who was the man? Did you at least know him? Or did he just waltz in today, deciding to buy a courtesan on a whim?

She would only chuckle at you, telling you to be patient and that you’d soon see who the mystery man was. Outwardly, you were as composed as what was expected of a courtesan of your position, but inside, you were frantic. Where the hell did this come from?

She stopped in front of the door when you reached your destination, where the man was waiting. “You go on in. I’ll be right outside if you need me, but I doubt you will.” You frowned at her expression. She was absolutely keeping something from you and was incredibly smug about it. You agreed exasperatedly. Sure. Why not? Everything about this was already strange enough.

You pushed open the wooden door to see a man with his back to you, gazing out one of the windows. Even before he turned around to face you, you knew that uniform and those broad shoulders anywhere.

“Caleb?” you whispered.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

The best you could manage to respond with was half-formed words, unable to appropriately ask what the hell was going on.

“I know I’m handsome and all, but I’d have thought you were used to it by now. Still take your words away, huh?”

You scoffed. “I own a mirror. I’m used to beauty.” Nothing is more dangerous than a man who knows just how attractive he is.

“Just can’t let a man dream, can you?”

“Where’s the fun in that? I’m paid to entertain, aren’t I?”

“That you are. How would you feel about leaving that behind, though?” For maybe the first time since you met him, he seemed unsure of himself, nervous to hear your answer. He was taking a gamble, he knew. If you said no, he would still go through with it anyway. He could either keep you with him the way he wanted, or he could arrest you, and lord knows the consequences of that would be dire. If you were upset, it wouldn't be for long. You would thank him for this later.

Except all of his worrying was for naught.

“I think it would be a nice change of pace. I’ve been doing this for long enough.” Your soft, sweet smile wiped every negative thought and doubt from his mind. If you were okay with it, then he could take you home with him without feeling like Jian some creep. 

Caleb smiled back at you, a large, genuine smile that lit up his features. Oh yeah, there would definitely be some jealousy when the other girls saw who was buying you out. “Do you want to get some of your things together while I talk with the madam to get everything in order?”

“You mean go with you today? It usually takes a bit of time to pack and finalize everything.”

“Sorry, Pips, but I don't think I have the patience to wait another day. Can pack some essentials for now and collect the rest later.” God, please don't hate him after this. 

You nodded apprehensively but ultimately agreed. Pips? That's a new one. 

You turned to leave, but before you could take so much as two steps, a firm grip was pulling you back into a sturdy chest. “Thank you, and I’m so sorry,” he whispered solemnly, his head buried in the crook of your neck.

You were completely taken aback and more than a little confused now. Surprised with him showing up, offering to pay your contract, and seeming so happy to do it, but now he was both thanking and apologizing? What on earth was happening? There was something he wasn't telling you. “What for?”

He pulled away from you, turning you in his arms to face him. “I’ll tell you later. You just worry about getting some things together while I talk with the madam, alright?”

You left the room, telling the madam that Caleb was ready to talk business with her, but the whole way back to your room, your head was swimming. What was all of that? Did he know? Had he discovered what the flowers were? Or maybe one of the wives had come clean? But if any of that were the case, why not arrest you on sight? How did your life get so messy over the course of a few months?

You were folding some of your clothes into a box when Caleb waltzed in to lean on the doorframe. “Almost ready? There's a carriage waiting outside to take us back to mine.”

“Yeah, just a moment.” You gave up on folding neatly, just balling it up and tossing it in before securing the lid. Caleb walked forward to take the modest-sized chest, hoisting it into his arms. 

The walk out was both awkward and emotional, with a few of the girls stopping you to say their goodbyes and offer hugs. Caleb was patient, even when it was obvious some of them were there more for him than to say goodbye to you.

When you did finally get to the carriage, Caleb offered you a hand to help you up before climbing in himself, your chest of clothes in tow.

“What part of the city do you live in? I’ve been wondering,” you asked. 

“You’ll just have to wait and find out, won't you?”

You huffed but didn't push the matter. “Ok, so why the sudden need for a personal courtesan?”

“Patience, pretty girl. I told you I’ll tell you later. ‘Later,’ as in when we get home.” He lightly chastised you, not truly annoyed but entertained by your curiosity.

You practically pouted the entire way to his home, but it was quickly dropped when you saw the size of it. Being a colonel must pay even better than you thought.

You could see Caleb’s smug face in your periphery as you gawked at his home. Show off.

The carriage came to a slow stop, and Caleb got out first, again offering you a hand to help. With you securely on the ground next to him, he grabbed your clothes to hand off to one of the few staff he kept on hand, instructing him to bring them to one of the empty bedrooms.

“Not your room?” 

Caleb’s face reddened at your words. “I didn't know if you would be comfortable with that. I mean, you're more than welcome to share my bed, but I thought you would appreciate your own space.”

He’s adorable. You gently placed a hand on his flaming cheek, directing his attention towards you as you pushed yourself up on the balls of your feet to press a soft kiss on his other cheek. “I do appreciate it. Thank you.”

The longer he waited, the harder it would be to confront you. But fuck, you looked so different when you weren't in the brothel, when the madam wasn't around the corner waiting to correct any mistakes. It was nice, and he was about to ruin it.

“You’re the one responsible for the murders,” he blurted out before he could talk himself out of it. “At least partially. Those flowers you were growing. You said they were toxic. You were also hired to entertain at a birthday party in which all the men and their wives were present, which would have given you ample opportunity to speak to both the men, thus your poor opinions of them, and the wives, who were likely more sick of them than anyone else.”

All the color drained from your face. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. There’s certainly no way to talk yourself out of this one.

“And so what? They were awful husbands who inflicted as much harm as they received. Seems fair to me.”

He stalked towards you, his eyes stern. You backed away from him until there wasn't anywhere else to go, your back hitting the cold wall. Caleb took the opportunity to bring his face to your level. “I never said it wasn't fair. But it can't be allowed to happen again. That’s why you're here with me, and you’ll never leave.”

There was an uncomfortable tightening in your chest. “How long have you known? Is this the only reason you visited so much?” Your voice was quiet and hesitant, unsure if you were ready to hear the answer. Not only would it be humiliating to have developed feelings for a man who was only doing his job, but it would be hurtful as well.

Caleb practically melted. He felt like such an asshole. “I only figured it out a few days ago. I was there to spend time with you. You just very conveniently turned out to be who I was looking for. And it’s because of all that time spent together, I haven't arrested you, and won’t. But I’m not doing this entirely out of goodwill. I do expect something in return.”

You weren't going to be arrested? Awfully generous of him. A little suspicious, but you weren't exactly in a position to complain. “And what is it that you want?”

“For you to stop making poison, for one.”

“It wasn't a career choice! You make me sound like a—”

“I wasn't done, Pips. It's rude to interrupt people when they're speaking.”

“You just interrupted me!”

“Because you interrupted me first.”

You rolled your eyes, choosing to keep whatever dignity you had left intact. “Any other requests?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” He lowered his voice, the new sensualness of his voice making your body shiver. “I want you to give yourself to me body and soul, to be my wife one day.” He didn't wait for a response, pressing his lips against yours lightly, giving you ample time to turn your head or tell him to stop. Honestly, he half expected you to slap him. Instead, he was met with you returning his show of affection. He made a noise of protest when you pulled away, following your lips until you pressed your fingers against them.

“Why do all this? Why not just arrest me?”

You smacked into the water with such force it knocked the air from your lungs. Considering you couldn't tell up from down, the last thing you wanted was to not have an ounce of breath to even hold. The water was battering you every which way, and your lungs were already burning within seconds. You were fighting to make it to the surface, to breathe, but instinct took over and you gasped, pulling the salty water into your lungs. It burned, but, underwater like you were, it was impossible to cough it up. Black spots were beginning to swim around in your vision as your body was rapidly growing weaker, no longer wanting to obey you. Just as you were finally losing consciousness, you felt something latch onto your waist and a sharp pain where your neck met your shoulder. Even the pain did nothing to jolt you back to alertness, the need for air too great. If that bite was what you thought it was, at least your death would serve a purpose: shark food.

When you awoke, you noted a few things right off the bat. One, you weren't dead. Two, you were underwater. And three, you had a tail. Revelation three immediately cast revelation one into extreme doubt. That hadn't been there before. You took in your surroundings, and it looked like you were tucked away in a small opening in some coral, a tunnel of sorts. Your heart rate spiked, beating so hard you thought it might just burst from the force. Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck. 

You looked at where your legs were supposed to be. You weren't familiar with shark species outside of the well known ones, but whatever you had was a delicate-looking thing built more for maneuverability than speed. A heterocercal tail, if you remembered right. Thank you, elective marine biology course. An extreme example, definitely a type of reef shark, at least. The caudal fin was slender and rounded, the bottom of it almost nonexistent. 

You touched it experimentally, feeling the sandpaper-like texture beneath your fingertips. You were quick to jerk your hand back. You’d felt it, yeah, and not just under your hands, but it wasn't like touching the legs you were used to. In the process, you slammed your elbow into the coral behind you, causing you to yelp in pain, the sound somewhat muffled under the water but not nearly as much as you would have expected. Observation four, you guessed. Observations five and six then came in quick succession. Five, you could smell blood in alarming clarity, and six, your teeth were sharp as hell, which you had noticed the second you bit your lip to muffle your original pained cry, just to immediately cry out again.

You gripped your elbow, attempting to alleviate the pain still radiating from the impact. While you were rubbing at the scraped skin, a shadow fell over you. You froze in place, your gaze slowly drifting upwards to find out what had caused it, terrified of what you might see.

It was the worst of both worlds. Both man and shark. You didn't even have time to think before you were swimming towards the end of the tunnel. Fortunately, your new appendage didn't have a learning curve. It came intuitively. Unfortunately, the man-shark-thing’s reflexes were faster than your swimming. His arm shot out, and he grabbed a hold of your tail, right at the joint where the caudal fin was attached. He began to pull you backwards towards him, and you thrashed as you dragged your nails into the sand but ultimately found nothing to hold on to. He wasn't even using both hands and still pulled you with ease. How unfair. 

Instinct told you to kick him, but that wasn't really an option anymore, was it? When you were close enough, he wrapped an arm around your waist for better leverage. He had you completely trapped against his bare chest with your arms pinned to your side. 

“What the fuck! Let go, you freak!” You shouted, hopelessly wriggling in place.

He only tightened his grip, not paying your words any mind. “You need to eat,” he said simply, lifting one of his arms lightly, offering you the octopus in his hand.

“No way! I’m not eating that thing!” You shrieked, trying once again to squirm away but to no avail.

“You’ve been unconscious for three days. Eat. You need it.”

You managed to shimmy an arm free, using it to push against his forearm that was firmly around your waist, but he didn't so much as budge. He wasn't wrong about you needing to eat; your energy was already flagging. Adrenaline was probably the only reason you had any to begin with, and you were beginning to pant from all of your failed escape attempts. The man-shark sighed, pulling you back into the coral alcove, completely undeterred by your persistent bad attitude. 

You didn't realize just how much bigger he was than you until he was crowding the space, barely able to fit through. He tore off one of the tentacles, offering it to you. Instead of accepting it, you took the opportunity to fully take in his appearance. He had startlingly silver hair but a young face that didn't match it. A young, handsome face with gleaming red eyes and a jaw so sharp it could cut steel. And his nose was one you would happily sit on if you still had the anatomy for it.

Your eyes trailed down his broad shoulders and chiseled chest. At least if you started drooling he wouldn't really be able to tell underwater. Without even thinking about it, you reached a hand out to touch where his tail met his torso. Surprisingly, he let you. You half expected him to bite your hand off for the sheer audacity. You lightly dragged your fingers from the skin of his lower abdomen down to the seam where the skin gradually changed texture. He inhaled shakily, which you took as a cue to stop. Must be sensitive right there.

“If you're done ogling me, you should eat now.” He pushed the tentacle in your hands, and you grimaced as you finally took it from him. You examined it apprehensively, looking between it and the pushy guy who obviously was going to sit there until he actually saw you eat. You took a small, tentative bite, hoping that would be enough to appease the man. It wasn't. He made a gesture for you to continue, but otherwise didn't speak. You groaned, resigning yourself to your fate and mentally apologizing to the poor octopus.

It wasn't as bad as you were expecting, but it was definitely new. By the last bite, you were really feeling just how ravenous you actually were. Truth be told, you wanted more, but your pride outweighed your hunger. He hadn't eaten any himself, so it seemed that it was just for you, but how were you supposed to ask for more after all that fuss to not eat it?

He chuckled, very much aware of your internal dilemma. “If you’re still hungry, all you have to do is say so.”

You made a face of distaste, but he wasn't wrong. “Can I have some more?” God, this was humiliating. You felt like Oliver Twist.

It continued this way until you were full, and the man triple checked that you wouldn't eat any more before consuming the rest, leaving only the beak to float down to the sand.

“Who are you?” You asked, voice bordering on something confrontational as you tried to pretend you were more confident than you really were. “And what happened to me?”

The man raised a brow, surprised you had managed to work up the nerve. He hadn't meant to come across as threatening—it was just a byproduct of his size—but even so you were obviously wary of him at best. He was brooding over your clear aversion to getting within three feet of him. He’d bitten you. You were marked, his, so why couldn't you feel it? It didn't seem like you had even noticed the still-healing bite aside from the way you occasionally rolled your shoulder. 

“Sylus,” he grunted. “You were drowning, so I saved you.”

You thought back to that feeling of something on your waist and the sharp bite on your shoulder before everything had gone black. Had that been him? You placed a hand over the injury, feeling the indents in your flesh. It was definitely a bite, but it wasn't as ragged as you'd expect of something that had actually been trying to eat. “Saved me how?”

“You never would have made it to the surface in time, so I bit you. Now you don't need air at all.”

What the fuck does that mean? What kind of shitty werewolf-esque-shark situation had you found yourself in? He bit you and now you had a tail? You had died. Or you were still drowning and this was just your subconscious’ way of protecting you from the trauma, because there was no way this guy was for real.

“You bit me?” You asked, looking for more clarification, your voice deadpan.

“Yes, I bit you, which means you're my responsibility now.” Mate as well, but he didn't think you could handle that little tidbit just yet.

“You're still not answering what I mean.” You were growing frustrated. How in the hell could a bite change your whole species?

“Then ask what you mean, kitten, and you might get the answer you want.”

Oh, this smug bastard. If he wasn't so much bigger than you, you'd strangle him.

You all but sneered when you asked again. “You say you bit me, and now I don't need air.” He nodded. “And this—” You pointed to your spotted tail. “Was not there before. I don't have legs anymore.”

“What an observant little kitten I have,” he cut in. 

That damn pet name again. “Do you even know what a kitten is?”

You took pride in momentarily rendering him speechless, but then he grinned, a laugh spilling from his lips. “And she has claws, too. How cute.”

Great. You couldn't even be mean to him. He got off on it.

“But to answer you, yes, I know what a kitten is. Fitting, no?” He pointed to your tail, but you didn't follow what he meant. He saw your confused expression, finally offering information without you having to explicitly ask for it. “Catshark.”

A small sound of interest was all you responded with as you swished it back and forth experimentally. Sure, you had used it earlier trying to escape, but that was panic-induced and, therefore, doesn't count. Back to business, then.

“I’m obviously not human anymore, so what exactly am I?” You took in his appearance once more. Different tails, but same overall anatomy. “What are we?” You corrected yourself.

He preened inside over your use of “we,” but didn't show it. “Us specifically, lachii. Eel tails are anguills. Fish tails are osteichs. We’re categorized by tail type.” He shrugged like this was common knowledge, and, in total fairness, it probably was to him. But this information told you that the two of you weren't just freaks of nature, there was a whole society of creatures like you that your science books had never prepared you for.

“Right. Ok. And how did a bite change me into a…lachii?”

“The only reason it worked is because you were drowning. Some people change on their  own. Reborn, so to speak. Others need a little push, like you did. But most of us are just born like this.”

You nodded slowly, digesting his words. And now you were one of them. So, you were basically right earlier; it pretty much was a werewolf situation. How bad could it be? No need to worry about higher education, no bills, no taxes, just open water and a ridiculously attractive man who didn't seem like he would leave your side any time soon.

But nothing was ever that easy. Over the course of however long, you really couldn't tell since you had lost track of the days, and the ocean didn't have near as many calendars floating around as it did plastic, you and Sylus grew closer. Currently, he was trying to teach you to catch fish efficiently, sick of you hurting yourself trying to get them out from where they inevitably hid in the rough coral. It was a work in progress, but you were definitely getting better, having just caught a fish that you were proudly showing Sylus. He had softened up around the edges, his expression gentle as he praised your work, showing off his own catch. 

Most days were the same. It was an easy and oddly domestic dynamic with him that you didn't expect. But from Sylus’ point of view, this is exactly what it was supposed to be. He still hadn’t told you exactly what his bite entailed, but he had an inkling that you were beginning to get the picture, especially when a friend of his had visited and had congratulated him upon spying the mark you sported. It didn't help that he often kissed that very spot when you were sleeping and had been caught more than once when you were not, in fact, sleeping. 

But you never said anything about it, and it was beginning to stress him out. Were you avoiding it because it made you uncomfortable? Or what if you were okay with it and just waiting for him? He was so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn't even notice when you swam up behind him to wrap your arms around over his shoulders, your face close to his. “Whatcha thinking so hard about?”

“Nothing for you to worry about. Did you get enough to eat? Should I catch something else?” You rolled your eyes. He was always so worried that you weren't eating enough.

“No, I’m fine, but thank you.” You pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, a habit you had picked up recently. Surely this meant you wouldn't mind if he came clean, right? Even so, he didn't say anything then, either.

You had picked up more little habits that further endeared him to you. Seeking him out just to be close, using him as a shield when some of the larger species still scared you, showing him the pretty shells you found. All of it was just so cute in his eyes. He liked knowing that you felt completely comfortable with him and saw him as a safe place. However, being as comfortable as you were with him, you were no longer scared to push his buttons. Hide and seek you called it. A common childhood game among humans, as you told him. His eyes scanned the swaying kelp, looking for any sign of your spotted tail. Either you were really good at this game or he needed to start worrying. He continued swimming around with no sight of you, but he did hear the tinkling sound of your laughter, carefree and uninhibited. He swam towards the sound, pushing kelp out of his way as he went. He wasn't near as agile as you were, the dense growth not very accommodating for his size.

When he finally had you in his line of sight, he was stopped in his path. You were smiling so brightly, laughing as you watched a family of otters swim and play. They were definitely cute, but his eyes were drawn to you. You hadn't yet seen him, so he took the opportunity to back into the kelp, hiding away from you to swim so that your back was to him.

With your attention firmly held by the cutest little group of animals you had seen in a long time, you were startled when a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist to pull you close.

“Found you,” he said, placing a light kiss on your shoulder, directly on the scar of his bite. You noticed he did that a lot, not that you minded. You reached behind you to cup the side of his face as he did so, your smile now entirely directed at him.

“That means it’s your turn to hide.”

“I like it better when I can see you,” he frowned.

“Is the big bad tiger shark pouting?”

He glared at you, no real heat behind it. “Start counting.”

You giggled, but did as he said, closing your eyes and beginning the count. As expected, he was nowhere in sight when you opened your eyes. You swam around leisurely, admiring the wildlife, which you guessed you were part of now.

You saw something dart around beneath you, just out of sight. You swam down, but instead of your handsome shark it was a tentacle. A very large tentacle that didn't want to let you go. You jerked and pulled, but it held strong. 

Your distressed noises carried to where Sylus was hidden away, and he immediately left his rather good (if he said so himself) hiding spot to swim to you as fast as his tail would allow. Your yelps got louder and Sylus was berating himself the whole time. If you were hurt, it was because he shouldn't have left you alone. You were still fairly new to this, after all.

When he finally reached you, he saw an octopus had latched itself onto you. You weren't hurt, just scared. But that was still enough for Sylus to intervene, helping wrench it off of you, biting the tentacles clean off as needed. They’ll grow back anyway.

When you were finally free of your boneless assailant, you launched yourself into his arms, teary eyes. He had half a mind to chase down the fiend for dinner. “No more hide and seek,” he said simply, stroking your back in a soothing manner. Distraught as you were, now wasn't the time to tell you either.

Sylus knew that the longer he waited to tell you that you were mated to each other, the harder it would be. Before he knew it, you had taken the opportunity yourself when he least expected it. You were pressed against his side laying in the sand, the water dark around you. He pressed his lips against the scar as he did every night, almost like he was reassuring himself that it was still there. “Why do you always kiss that spot?” you asked as cluelessly as you could. If your werewolf comparison was accurate, you had a fairly good guess.

He hummed, lips still pressed to your skin, the vibrations sending tingles through your body.

“Sylus?” you called out when he didn't answer.

“Because it’s what brought you to me.”

“Is that all it means to you?”

He sighed before answering. “No. It means your mine. It’s a mating mark. I should have told you from the-”

You didn't even let him finish, opting instead to press a drawn out kiss to his plush lips. You were giggling as you peppered the rest of his face in little kisses. 

“You're not mad?” he asked.

“Couldn't be happier,” you beamed at him. “Plus, I was pretty sure what it meant. I just wanted to hear you say it.”

Sylus’ face reddened almost imperceptibly. “So, you let me stress over telling you when you knew the whole time?”

You nodded, all too happy when he groaned in embarrassment. “You'll have to make it up to me, then, kitten.”

“How so?”

Even before you had fallen asleep, he had hesitated to lie beside you, and, when he did, he’d kept his back turned to you, his body situated as close to the edge as possible without falling off.

You sighed heavily, throwing off the covers and rising from the soft bedding. You pulled on a robe to protect yourself from the chilly morning air. As you did so, you noticed his nightstand barren when it hadn't been the night before. His conscription notice. It was gone. Your pulse thundered in your chest as you hurried over to his wardrobe, throwing open the doors to find that most of his clothing was now gone, save for the elaborate ceremonial robes he’d worn only yesterday.

You glanced around the room once more. A glint on your own bedside table caught your eye. How you had missed it, you didn't know. But it didn't matter now, since all you felt was white hot rage coursing through your veins as you stared at the simple silver wedding band lying there, the tangible symbol of your unity as husband and wife reduced to a paperweight for the neatly folded note beneath it.

With a shaking hand, you pulled the note out from under it, allowing the ring to slide against the paper and clink back onto the wooden surface of your bedside table. You gingerly unfolded the note, resisting every urge to rip it to shreds without even reading it. His handwriting was almost clinical in its precision, as if he was practicing calligraphy and not whatever this was.

Y/n

I have volunteered my expertise to the imperial army as a medic, effective immediately. Do not attempt to contact or follow me. I leave my home in your hands and I apologize for my sudden departure.

Z. Li

You crumpled up the note in your fist, seething. How could he humiliate you like this? And with such an impersonal note, too. It was an insult. A rejection. This was not how husbands spoke to their wives. He had packed his bags, removed his ring, and left you without so much as waking you to bid you farewell, effectively abandoning you on the first day of what was intended to be the rest of your lives together. 

You wouldn't stand for it. You would not be treated like a forgotten relic, pushed aside to collect dust. He would see. You would make him see. His wife was not just some feeble woman that he could walk all over.

You moved quickly in your anger, sifting through all the clothes you had that could help you pass as a man. Out of sheer spite, you used one of Zayne’s shirts to form a cloth strip to bind your chest. It was work, but your effort was rewarded when you took in your appearance in the mirror. You looked like a man. An effeminate one, but a man nonetheless. No longer were you the refined young woman you had been raised to be.

This foolish plan may have very well gotten you killed, but it had to be better than whatever fate Zayne had tried to condemn you to. If he didn't want to see his wife, then you would give him someone else to see. 

The travel was brutal on your body, the terrain and weather unforgiving. You were accustomed to the sedentary, indoor life of a well-bred noble, not one that involved traversing jagged terrain and sleeping in public inns. At the very least, it served as study material of sorts for your disguise. You were able to listen and observe those around you, and the grime of travel that was beginning to coat your face only helped conceal you further. 

Whenever you began to flag, you pulled out the silver ring that Zayne hadn't even deemed worthy of bringing with him. The anger fueled you to keep going. Additionally, you had briefly made acquaintances with an older man traveling alone. He had taken it upon himself to instruct you when you nearly killed both of you by misidentifying a toxic fruit as an edible one. Certainly not your proudest moment, but he had been patient with you, teaching you everything he could about herbal medicine. You dutifully wrote all of it down, reading through the notes as often as possible to ensure they were committed to memory.

Of course, the day eventually came when you had to part ways. All for the best, though. You weren't far now from Zayne’s posting. After countless days of travel, you had finally reached the camp. It was more of a fortress than a camp really, what with the high, imposing walls surrounding it. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. Your name was Zhi. You came from a small village in the West, and you were looking to become an apprentice in the medical sect. You checked your pack to make sure you had your forged papers before approaching the gate with as much false confidence as you could muster. 

“Name?” Demanded the armored man stationed at the gate. “Zhi,” you answered, keeping your tone level and ensuring you kept it low enough to not arouse suspicion. You willed your hands to not shake as you provided him with your forged papers. “I’m seeking an apprenticeship position to become a medic.”

Your papers must have been good enough, since he handed them back to you without comment. He squinted as he looked you up and down. “Are you sure? The medics here see blood and gore day in and day out. You look like a strong wind would snap you in half.”

“I’ll manage. I’m not as physically imposing as the other men here, but I’m dedicated and efficient.”

The man didn't seem convinced, but directed you in anyway. “The man you need to talk to is Dr. Li. He’s in the medical tent; you can’t miss it. He’s a serious sonofabitch. Never smiles and doesn't tolerate slowness.”

It seemed that was all he had to say, so you continued on inside, looking all around you for a tent that stood out from the rest. And he was right. You really couldn't miss it. You joined a queue of what looked to be about ten or so young men, commoners, if their clothes were a reliable indicator. 

It didn't take long to see Zayne, his back to you once more, only this time he was tending to the wounds of a soldier on a bloodied cot. You guessed you and the other boys were waiting on him to finish. He seemed so comfortable amidst the groans of pain and blood, completely in his element. It would be admirable if only he hadn't considered this preferable to a comfortable morning in bed with his wife. You watched the way he stitched the wound shut, his hands deft and precise, making no unnecessary movements.

Upon finishing, he turned to survey the group of hopefuls wishing to be taught his trade. “Apprentices,” he began, voice clear and sure. “Look around. We deal with everything from lacerations, to stabbings, to broken bones. If you are squeamish, I ask that you reconsider your goals here and leave now.”

Three of the potential candidates backed out of the tent, looking like they were going to be sick. “You.” He pointed to one of the young men. “Come here.”

He tested each and every one of you individually on your knowledge of first aid and the practical skills needed to apply it. One after the other, they were dismissed for reasons such as incompetence or visible nausea. You worried you might get sent back home before even getting the chance to prove what you had set out to do.

When he got to you, there wasn't so much as a flicker of recognition on his face. He directed your attention to one of the cots. “When he got here, he had sustained substantial injuries and was bleeding heavily here, here, and here. What would you have prioritized?”

“His abdomen, sir. The limbs can be tied with a tourniquet, but the abdomen needs to be addressed immediately. Of course, it would depend on the severity of the wounds themselves, but, assuming they were equally bad, then that is my answer.”

“If his wounds were infected, how would you treat them?”

“Application of an herbal poultice.” You went on to describe exactly which plants and in which amounts, how often they were to be reapplied, and how to bandage it.

“This man here,” he said, walking over to where another medic was busy suturing a soldier wincing in pain. “He’ll finish this,” Zayne told him, nodding his head in your direction. 

You took the needle from the medic, relying on your experience with sewing cloth to help. It was certainly different, but your pride couldn't take another hit. You could not be sent back home. You had already been rejected as his wife, and you would not be rejected as his apprentice.

Zayne observed you quietly, his intimidating presence looming over you. Once you had finished, you looked to him, waiting for any sort of feedback. “Satisfactory, if not a little sloppy. You’ll start with a probationary period under my tutelage.”

Impersonal, as you expected, but all that mattered was that you got to stay. You would prove to both him and yourself that you were worth more than a cast-aside wedding ring and empty vows.

-❆-

It was brutal work. You’d been warned, but nothing could have prepared you for the relentless onslaught of neverending injuries that needed tending. Day in and day out, you were suturing and packing wounds, applying salves, running errands, and gathering more supplies for Dr. Li. He was as emotionally distant as he was during the apprentice evaluations, only ever giving short commands, his words clipped and to the point, wasting no time. 

What you had learned from the old man was just a drop in the bucket compared to what you had learned from Zayne so far. He was terrifying in his own way, his every movement swift and precise, his quick analysis of injuries allowing him to make judgement calls on a dime, treating his patients as quickly as possible. You may not have respected him as a husband, but you couldn't deny that he was a master of his trade, perfectly at home in the field hospital. There were even jokes among the soldiers that he was born with an innate knowledge of herbs. 

You were stripping two of the cots of their bloody linens when Zayne shouted for you. “Zhi! Take care of the captain’s laceration. I’ll handle the other one.” You dropped what you were doing, rushing to the man’s side. There was a deep cut down the length of his forearm, but nothing life threatening, unlike the man who had been brought in with him.

You got to work quickly, ensuring that both the skin and the needle were clean before beginning the process of sewing flesh back together. You were proud of how much you had improved, now able to work almost as quickly as Zayne himself, though you doubted you’d ever reach his level of skill. He was a prodigy, after all.

The man, who had introduced himself as Caleb, made small talk as you worked, mostly to distract himself from the stinging pain. “You're very efficient with a needle,” he remarked, watching the way your nimble fingers adeptly guided the little tool. 

“I should hope so, considering how much grief Dr. Li has put me through.”

Caleb snorted, looking over to where Dr. Li was busy with his own patient, yelling out orders to the more experienced assistants. “Yeah, I can believe it.”

He continued to watch you work, fascinated by how gentle your hands were, considering your chosen line of work. More gentle than any man’s hand typically was. His eyes narrowed as he focused more on your actual hands than what you were doing with them. Far more delicate than what would be expected of the peasant boy you had introduced yourself as. With growing suspicion, he turned his gaze to your face. You only spared him a brief, confused glance before refocusing on the task at hand. 

You were hiding it well, but Caleb had always been the observant type. He had initially assumed you were just a somewhat feminine man, but no. You weren't a man at all—he was sure of it. He didn't know your reasons or motivations for being there, but they must have been serious if you were risking imperial punishment. He didn't personally care, though. After all, a good medic is a good medic, and they sure needed all the help they could get, but the higher ups might very well kill you if you're ever discovered.

There was a part of him that was mildly concerned someone else would figure it out and actually turn you in, but another part of him found great amusement in the fact that the perfect Dr. Li hadn't even noticed despite working with you all day. When you finished tying off the thread, you dutifully wrapped his arm tightly with clean bandages, instructing him to change them as needed. Taking this as a dismissal, he stood from the cot, almost laughing at the height difference between the two of you that solidified what he already believed to be true. Dr. Li really was oblivious to anything that wasn't medicine. 

You continued to see Caleb periodically, sometimes with one of the other captains, a formidable man named Sylus who had very quickly moved up the ranks and was still making a name for himself. Rumor had it there had been some . . . odd noises from his tent one night, before his battalion had joined the camp you were working at. 

You didn't understand why, but Caleb seemed to always make it a point to acknowledge you. It was odd being observed so much, but you brushed it off, assuming he was just grateful for your help.

Though the conversations you had with Caleb were only brief exchanges whenever you happened to see each other, Zayne was quick to chastise you for it. “This is a field hospital, not a teahouse. You have work to do. Don’t waste your time on frivolous matters.” 

Truly spoken like a man who didn't care for personal feelings, always pushing them aside in favor of his work. At that point, you weren't sure if he was even capable of emotion extending past the professionalism he exhibited. Despite all the effort you had put in and your vast improvement in, well, everything, Zayne never deigned to give you so much as the slightest bit of encouragement. The closest you ever got was a simple “Good.” 

You still had no idea who Zayne actually was—you only knew him as Dr. Li.

Your chance finally came late one night when you were tasked with helping him organize his field notes and logs of injuries and the treatments he found most suitable. You knew he was meticulous, but the sheer amount of scrolls and paper he had filled with ink was more than you would have ever imagined one man capable of composing.

It was beyond tedious, but obviously long overdue, the scattered documents completely covering every inch of the table he used as a desk. He handed you a large stack, instructing you to organize by date and injury, such as laceration, arrow, burn, etc. You were thumbing through them when you mustered up the courage to break the silence that was previously filled with nothing but the sound of rustling papers and small, periodic sighs. 

“Dr. Li, where do you practice when you're not with the army as a medic?”

He answered without even looking up at you. “A moderately sized city near the capital. Why?”

“Was just curious. You don't talk about yourself much.”

“I see no reason to. Should I discuss my favorite meals or childhood memories as I’m repairing flesh?” He asked somewhat facetiously, his flat tone of voice making him sound far more critical than humorous.

“No, of course not. That’s not what I meant,” you backtracked, trying to think of how to carefully word your sentences in a way that would get him to open up without causing suspicion as to why you were asking.

“Then say what you mean.”

“I was just curious what you’re like in your free time. When you're not taking care of patients.”

Zayne sighed but didn't rebuke you. “I enjoy reading and drawing. Recently I’ve taken up carving. I hate carrots but love sweets. Is that answer satisfactory to you?”

“It’s a start.”

“A start?”

You hummed. “What about your home life? Are you married?”

He went silent, face completely blank. He looked down at his hand, thumbing the bare finger where his ring should have been. “I am,” He said, careful to keep his tone neutral.

“How long have you been married? What’s she like?”

He hesitated, not particularly wanting to reveal that he was a newlywed who immediately left his wife the very next day. “We married quite recently, and, truthfully, I don't know much about her. It was an arrangement with her father for social standing. I left early in the morning the day after the ceremony to come here.”

“Oh. How did she take the news?” You asked, trying to push for more information, to find out why he would do such a thing to you.

“I didn't discuss it with her beforehand. We’re not even friends or properly acquainted all that well, so I didn't think she would care.”

“You don't have a lot of experience with women, do you?”

He looked offended for a moment, like he was going to argue with your statement, but he ultimately didn't. You weren't wrong. “What makes you say that?”

“Dr. Li, it’s very possible she’s not even waiting at home for you anymore. Think about it from her perspective. You got married and then the next day you were gone. Left her there with no warning. I can't imagine how she felt.” 

Yes you could, and it was a misery and ache that you wouldn't wish upon anyone.

“I hadn't considered her feelings in the matter. As I said, we’re practically strangers. And I did leave a note explaining my absence.”

You shook your head. “And I’ll bet it was as dull and straightforward as these patient logs.”

He again went silent, contemplating your words. Once more he could neither argue nor defend himself against your accurate assumption. “. . . Do you truly think she may have left me?”

Your eyes widened and your mouth dropped open slightly. You masked the expression  as quickly as it came, performatively shrugging your shoulders as if you didn't care. “I don't know her, so I can’t really answer that.”

Before the conversation could fizzle out into nothing, there was still one specific thing you wanted answers to. “If you're married, then why don't you wear a ring? Do you keep it on a necklace since you can't wear it when operating?”

Zayne grimaced. “I left my ring with the note.”

You raised your eyebrows, playing your role as concerned apprentice as best you could. “You left your ring? Why would you do that? She probably saw that and assumed you left her. As in, a divorce. That’s what an abandoned wedding ring typically means.”

Zayne was rubbing his temples now, the very picture of stress. “I didn't mean it that way. The intention was to leave something important behind, something I'd return to claim.” 

You were ready to smack your hand against your face. How could someone so intelligent be so stupid? “You said the two of you were practically strangers. Do you think she would have made that connection herself?”

For the first time since you arrived Zayne looked truly distressed. Gone was the immaculately put-together doctor, leaving only a husband who was realizing he had ruined his marriage before it truly had the chance to even begin.

“That is enough for tonight. I’ll handle the rest of the paperwork. You can go.” His voice was audibly strained, the muscles in his jaw tight.

You left without another word, casting a quick glance over your shoulder as you ducked through the tent flap to see Zayne hunched over his desk with his head propped in his palms.

From that point on, Zayne made it very clear that he wouldn't discuss anything more with you than the usual orders for more bandages or clean linen. Somehow, he was even more distant than he had been before. But when a soldier came in with a shattered femur and every other medic was already occupied, he had no choice but to work side by side with you. Despite his emotional avoidance, he was still teaching you new things, such as how the anaesthesia was made and how much to administer. 

Flesh and tissue was one thing, but you quickly found that bone was not your strong suit. As expected of a man of his caliber, Zayne was entirely unfazed as he directed you to help him realign the bone and gather the materials to make a splint. 

As always, he was efficient, but he couldn't help but get distracted by your hands. You had never worked so closely before, and only now was he able to see that your hands were much smaller than those of the average adult male. He wondered if you had been malnourished as a child. And yet, something about them was familiar. 

As soon as the splint was in place, he allowed himself to be as distracted as he wished in order to analyze your hands. Why did they look so familiar? It was irritating that he was struggling so much to think of a reason behind his own recognition. 

“Dr. Li? Is everything alright?” You asked, breaking him of his intense focus. He turned his head to look at you, but his attention was captured by something else. The tunic you’d worn that day was too large, the fabric practically swallowing you. It left just enough space for Zayne to see that the braided cord you always wore wasn't empty. 

There, looped onto the cord, were two silver rings, the larger of which was startlingly familiar. 

His ring.

The one he had left at home. 

You didn't understand why Zayne had suddenly stopped moving, glancing down to see what he was so focused on. You knew you hadn’t  forgotten your wraps so—the ring. He could see the ring! You knew you should have left it in your tent with your things, but you didn't want to risk losing it or it getting stolen. 

“Dr. Li—”

“Come with me,” he snarled, grabbing your wrist in an almost painful grip. He pulled you after him, not heeding your pleas to slow down or caring how much attention he was drawing. He was beyond furious. What were you thinking? No wonder your hands looked familiar; they were the same ones he had held at the altar, the same ones that he had slipped a ring onto. 

As soon as you were in his tent and out of sight, he turned to face you. “What are you doing here? What were you thinking?” he hissed at you, just barely holding onto his composure. 

You only glared back at him. How were you supposed to say that the way he’d left had ignited such a fiery rage that you couldn't even think straight? 

He took both of your shoulders in his grasp, his anger giving way to a borderline frantic concern. “Answer me, please.” His voice had dropped down to a pleading whisper. “Yn, please, why are you here? You could be put to death for this.” 

“So what? It’s not like you wanted a wife anyway,” you grumbled, pushing his hands away. You crossed your arms across your chest, staring at him expectantly.

He made an exasperated noise. Why did you have to be so stubborn? What kind of foolish thinking had even led you here? “Is it so hard to believe that I don't want my wife to be murdered?” He was hurt that you truly thought so little of him, but it’s not like he’d given you much to work with. 

You faltered, his heartbroken expression pulling on your own heartstrings. “I just didn't think you'd care at all,” you answered honestly.

Zayne inhaled deeply, calming the storm of emotions that had started as soon as he saw his ring. “Of course I care. You can't let anyone know.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You weren't binding your chest everyday for fun. “Of course not. I don't want to be executed either.”

Zayne began to speak again, but faltered, trying to find the right words without coming across as too coarse. “It’s more than that. Yes, potential execution. But it would make you the only woman in a camp full of men. You already are, but they don't know that.”

You grimaced. It seemed you hadn't quite considered everything. “Understood. I’ll be even more careful from now on.”

He said your name so softly you almost weren't sure he said it at all. “I’m not trying to lecture you. I’m just concerned for your safety. Surely you can see this was a foolish plan.”

For someone not trying to lecture it sure sounded like he was doing just that, and you told him as much. “I wouldn't expect you to understand. We’ll continue our duties as normal and we won't acknowledge this again. Does that sound acceptable?”

From the look on his face, you would guess, no, it was not good enough, and that this was far from over. Ideally, he wanted you back home, but for now he guessed this was all that was possible. “Fine. But you work with no one else but me. And don't wear such loose shirts. You're not as tall as these men, and, if they're able to see down your shirt as I did, they may see the bindings.” Though he had spoken so matter-of-factly, his face was tinged an endearing shade of red.

You brought a hand up to clutch at the collar of your shirt. “Noted.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but today had been enough of a catastrophe already, so you took your leave before Zayne could continue. He watched you go, mind swirling with all the horrible possibilities of what would happen to you both if you were found out.

True to his word, Zayne did not permit you to work with any other medic. He kept you at his side as much as he could, and when he didn't truly need your help he had you running to and fro, completing menial tasks such as cleaning bed linens or fetching water to boil. You were exhausted by the end of each day, but the work was so fulfilling that you didn't even mind. 

One particular day had been so hectic you hadn't even had time to eat lunch, and by the time you finally did have the chance to put any food in your mouth, you were so tired that you barely even had the energy to make it to your tent before collapsing into your cot.

You don't know how long you slept, but you woke to the feeling of someone gently shaking you. You opened your bleary eyes and could barely make out Zayne’s figure standing beside your bed. He had brought a lantern with him, illuminating your small space and casting shadows across his sharp features.

“Zayne? What are you doing here?” You mumbled, brain still sluggish from sleep.

“Sit up. I didn't see you at supper, so I brought you food.”

You grumbled as you rubbed at your eyes, still adjusting to the light. “C’mon,” he urged. You couldn't see it, but there was a small smile tugging the corner of his lips as he watched you struggle to rouse yourself. A part of him felt bad for waking you from what was clearly much needed sleep, but he couldn't let you go hungry either.

Zayne handed you a bowl of food when you finally made it into a sitting position. You took it from him gratefully. The longer you were awake, the more aware of your empty stomach you became. Between the lack of sleep and hunger, you didn't even bother putting all of those etiquette classes to use. You ate like you were scared Zayne might take it away from you despite him being the one to have brought it in the first place.

“Slow down before you choke” was his only commentary. It wasn't until the ache in your stomach had calmed that you actually heeded his advice, finally remembering to thank him for going out of his way for you.

“It's a husband’s job to take care of his wife, no?”

You were here to prove a point, but somehow it seemed that Zayne was determined to undermine the image you had of him, but it would take more than one meal to undo the damage he’d inflicted. “Did you only do this because we’re married and you felt obligated or because you actually wanted to?”

“Why are you so intent on seeing the worst in me? I am concerned for you as a person, first and foremost. Your body needs food. But I can't lie and say that you being my wife has nothing to do with it.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, digesting his words, pretending you weren't even a little bit touched by his concern. It was hardly anything. Nothing to have your cheeks warming, which they definitely weren't. 

The silence lulled between you, not uncomfortable, just an air of calm that settled over you both as you finished your food. “You can sit on the bed, if you’d like,” you offered quietly. “I’m sure the ground isn't comfortable, and you've been on your feet all day.”

He looked at you thoughtfully before ultimately deciding to take you up on your offer. He stood slowly, his full height towering over you until he sat back down, this time at the foot of your bed, obviously making a conscious effort not to touch you in any way. “Thank you. This is better.”

“So, you said you like carving right? What do you carve?” You inquired around a mouth full of food.

“Jade, mostly. It’s an expensive hobby, so I don't indulge in it as much as I’d like.”

“Would you show me some of your pieces when we return home?”

His eyes widened momentarily, shocked you were actually interested, and then his face melted into something much warmer. “Of course.”

When all he could hear was the clinking of your chopsticks in the now-empty bowl, he asked, “Are you still hungry? Would you like some more?”

You shook your head. “No, this was plenty, thank you.”

He stood up and offered his hand out to take the now-empty bowl from you. “You should get some rest, then.” Before he could second-guess himself, he leaned over to press a gentle kiss to the top of your head, turning around and exiting before you could see the spreading flush on his face. 

You watched him leave, wondering where the sudden affection came from, but certainly not hating it either.

As Zayne was returning to his own bed for the night after returning your bowl, he was stopped by the soldier that he often saw stopping by to talk to you. “Can I help you?”

The soldier nodded. “Yes, but we need to speak somewhere more private. Too  many ears out here.”

Zayne narrowed his eyes, suspicious. This was unusual. No one ever stopped him for anything other than someone needing urgent medical assistance. “Follow me,” he said, continuing on his way to his quarters, listening for the footsteps of the soldier behind him that verified he was indeed following. 

Once safely tucked away, Caleb wasted no time getting to the point. “That apprentice of yours, Zhi,” he started.

The mention of your “name” immediately caught Zayne’s full attention. “What about him?” He asked sternly, his tone frigid and his eyes razor-sharp, analyzing every microexpression on Caleb’s face.

“Delicate guy, isn't he? Shorter than you'd expect for his age. Of course, I’m not a doctor, but someone of his disposition doesn't really belong in a harsh place like this. He stitched my arm up. Did a damn good job of it, too. But his hands are soft, no scars or callouses.” As he spoke, he had an easy, knowing grin, almost smug.

He didn't say it outright, but his expression, in addition to his veiled words, was enough to tip Zayne off: he knew. Zayne nodded slowly, apprehensively. “And what about it?”

Caleb shrugged. “Nothing, really. Just figured you’d like to know that you’re training him well, but that delicacy might draw some unwanted attention. It's not fitting for someone in the army, medic or otherwise. You’d be wise to keep him safe near you.”

Zayne clenched his jaw, loathing the fact that this soldier had probably known that you were a woman before he had recognized you as his own wife, and even then it was only because you had his ring. He recognized a ring before his wife. What kind of worthless husband was he?

“Noted,” he told the soldier shortly. “I don't intend to let my apprentice suffer the consequences of my oversight.”

Caleb’s rigid posture relaxed slightly, the tension he’d been carrying since realizing what kind of position you were in alleviated knowing that Zayne was also keeping your secret. “I’ll take my leave then, Doctor.”

The second that Zayne was alone, he all but collapsed onto his bed, staring up but focused on nothing. How had it all become so complicated? When he was young, all he had ever wanted was to be a doctor. He had worked and studied hard to get where he was now. He used to wonder what it would be like to have a marriage like his parents, but had eventually written off such dreams as just that—dreams. His busy lifestyle wouldn't allow for him to be the doting husband his father was. That was one thing about Zayne. He had always struggled to draw a clear line between work and his personal life, with work often eating into what should have been his time to relax and recuperate from the day.

And yet, there you were. The daughter of one of his father’s friends. A young woman who needed a husband, and him, a successful young man who stood to gain social capital if he had a wife at his side. Somehow, that simple arrangement had devolved into this masquerade with potentially deadly consequences. He dragged a hand down his face, sighing like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Might as well be, considering his wife’s very life was hanging in the balance, not to mention his own.

Try as he might to fall asleep, his thoughts would not allow him peace. All the grief he gave you about taking care of yourself and yet there he was, unable to take his own advice. Toss and turn as he might, sleep would not take him. 

By the next morning, after only a few hours of fitful rest, he woke up feeling like death itself. Everything ached, and he was sweating and shivering at the same time. He tried to sit up but it felt like his head was trying to split itself in two. He lay back down, admitting defeat. Even if he did manage to make it to his feet, there was no guarantee he would stay on them. The stress and exertion of the past few weeks had finally taken their toll on him.

When you arrived at the medical center, you immediately noticed a certain doctor’s absence. Odd, you thought, he was always the first to arrive. You asked one of the other medics if they had seen him that morning, but the answer was negative, as it was with everyone else you asked afterwards. 

You took it upon yourself to go check on him, informing one of the other doctors of your intentions. You strode quickly across the camp, which was still slowly waking, soldiers walking around only half awake as the early morning light shone upon them.

Zayne’s tent was quiet, even when you called for him. You peeled the flap back, peaking your head in to see him still sound asleep in bed. You entered quietly, and, the closer you got, the more you were able to see the flush across his cheekbones and the sweat beading on his forehead. Your brows scrunched together in concern, and you reached a hand out to feel his forehead. You gasped at the heat emanating from his skin. He was burning up.

“Dr. Li?” you called again, lightly shaking his shoulder. He grumbled something unintelligible as his eyes slowly opened. He started to sit up, but you pushed him back down. “You're sick. The others will take over your duties until you're better, so you focus on getting your own health back.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered thickly. 

You had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. He was more married to his work than he was you. “No, you're not, and you know it. You can’t help anyone like this. What if you get the injured sick? Their bodies are already struggling enough as is.”

His displeasure was written all over his face, and truthfully it would be cute if you weren't so focused on how high his fever was. You told him that you were going get some supplies and that you would be right back.

For three days you provided round-the-clock care for the head doctor after getting permission from the medic whose head it fell on if Zayne was otherwise unavailable. His fever had only continued to rise despite the constant replacement of the cold compresses on his forehead. You were applying a new one yet again when he reached out and tugged your sleeve. “Zhi?”

You halted what you were doing, locking eyes with his pretty green gaze. “Do you need something?” You asked him with a tone as gentle as his tug on your tunic.

He didn't acknowledge your question, instead carrying on like you hadn't spoken at all. “Have I ever told you I’m married?”

Your eyebrows were practically in your hairline, lips briefly forming a perfect ‘o’. You hid your smile behind your hand, trying to contain the giggles that were involuntarily bubbling up. It seems his fever had made him slightly delirious. 

“No, I don't think you have. Why do you ask?” Evidently, he had also forgotten that you had, in fact, had this conversation already. But who were you to correct the sick? You were already doing everything you could for his physical health as Zhi, so you might as well do what you could for his emotional health as his wife.

“I was mean to her. We got married, and I left the next morning before she even woke up. Didn't even say goodbye.” He mumbled. You had to lean closer to his face to hear him properly. “I should have at least taken my ring with me.”

“You left your ring there?” You asked as though you weren't already well aware.

“I hope you don't think less of me. You're doing really well, and I don't want my own apprentice to think I’m not a worthy role model.”

With the way he was looking at you, you would almost think he cared more for Zhi than you, despite you being the same person. “I don't think less of you as a doctor. As a husband though, you do leave much to be desired.”

Zayne groaned, turning his feverish head and burying his face in his pillow, the compress you’d just given him sliding right off. “What am I to do when I go home? She’ll surely hate me.”

At least you had confirmation he cared about resolving your relationship. He didn't know it, incoherent as he was, but he was already well on his way to getting back in his wife’s good graces. “You’ll have a lot of groveling to do. Do you know her favorite flowers? Or her favorite foods? Something to maybe prevent her from smacking you silly the second you show your face.” You knew he didn't, but perhaps he’d remember just who he was talking to when the fever finally broke. You were outright telling him things that you would appreciate. “The best thing you could do is explain yourself and make up for any lost time.”

He nodded, taking every word to heart. He looked utterly miserable, and clearly not just from his illness. “When I get home, I’ll tell her.”

“Tell her what?” You probed. It was probably wrong not to correct him at such a vulnerable point, but under the influence of the fever, his higher cognitive functions weren't able to step in and cause him to harbor a second guess. Once he recovered, he likely wouldn't remember much of this, and, if he did, it was even less likely that he would tell you.

“That I’m sorry,” he said solemnly. “That I should have considered her more. That I should have talked to her and not assumed she wouldn't care.”

You nodded along to his words, a small smile on your face. “She knows you're sorry.”

He looked at you with wide, unguarded eyes. “How can you be so sure of that?”

“You’ll just have to trust me, Dr. Li.” You said assuredly, fixing the compress on his head once more. You wondered what this whole exchange was like for him, a man who kept his emotions so in check. Would he remember any of this when the fever broke? 

“You know,” he spoke up once again, looking right at you as your hands pulled away from him. “It’s kind of funny . . . you almost look a bit like her. In the face. Your smiles are the same.” It took everything in you not to start outright laughing this time, but you just barely suppressed it, that aforementioned smile of yours widening a bit as a direct result.

“. . . That probably sounds odd of me to say. I apologize,” he was quick to add, clearly at least thinking straight enough to recognize that much.

“No, no, you’re alright. I’m flattered,” you told him, letting a bit of your laugh seep through to lighten the mood.

“. . . Flattered?”

Ah. Maybe that was the wrong choice of words. Well, it was a bit late to go back on what you said. “By which I mean,” you started, trying to make sense of your own comment, “your wife sounds like a lovely woman. Perhaps, with a face like hers, I could find myself a wife of my own someday.” A good enough cover. Probably. At least with him being in the state he was in, anyway.

“Ah, right. You're still young aren't you, Zhi? I'm sure you'll meet a fine woman of your own in the near future. Hopefully you'll treat her better than I’ve treated my own.”

God, he was making it so difficult to keep it together. But, in addition to being humored, you also felt your heart swell a bit at that last part. His remorse was so genuine and tangible, you could tell it was eating away at him enough to escape his mind in this conversation like it was.

You could tell his fatigue was starting to return from the look in his eyes, so you decided you ought to let him rest for a while so his fever could properly dissipate. Plus, you needed some quiet time to think about this entire interaction all over again. “Get yourself some more rest, Doctor. I’ll be right here if you need anything.

He nodded slightly, letting his eyes fall shut as he shifted a bit under the sheet. Admittedly, he looked somewhat cute like this, and you couldn't resist reaching out to brush a lock of stray hair from his forehead. A part of you hoped he’d remember everything so that you could bring it up later. But, for the time being, you simply hoped he’d feel better soon.

You guessed you had fallen asleep still seated at Zayne’s bedside, because when you woke you were being lifted from the floor. You were vaguely aware of being pressed against a solid, warm surface that eventually registered as Zayne’s chest. You squirmed in his hold, beginning to protest. “You should be resting.”

“I’m feeling much better. You’ve taken great care of me, so let me take care of you now.” He placed you gently in his cot, lying behind you and pulling you into his chest, one of his arms slung across your waist. It was cramped, but not altogether unpleasant. It was the safest you'd felt since arriving at the camp, and the warmth radiating from him was so comforting you didn't even have it in you to argue anymore. You relaxed in his hold, relishing in the physical intimacy he was showing for the very first time.

You were awoken the next morning by the raucous sounds of soldiers shouting and rushing to and fro. You jolted up from bed, not failing to notice your husband’s absence once again, likely already back to work, his admirable (albeit somewhat unhealthy) work ethic pushing him to return to his duties. You rushed to get ready. Judging from all the noise outside, you had definitely overslept. You made your way out of Zayne’s quarters as inconspicuously as you could, but there wasn't any need.

The camp was a riot of sound and movement. At first, you thought that the worst had happened, that they had suffered immense casualties and severe injuries, but, upon closer inspection, most seemed to be in good spirits. 

You raced to the medical unit anyway, hoping someone there would give you answers. Every cot was full when you got there, and you wasted no time joining the others in your duties. You gathered from snippets of overheard conversations that it was over—the invading forces had been defeated. 

It took hours for the commotion to die down, and only then were you able to speak to Zayne properly. “It’s over?” You asked in disbelief. It had been so long that being at the camp felt normal. What would happen when you returned home? Would you be able to continue learning and training under Zayne, or would he expect you to take up wifely responsibilities and nothing more? Admittedly, you had somewhat enjoyed your time spent as an apprentice, and a part of you didn’t want it to come completely to an end

“It is. I’ve spoken with Captain Sylus. We’ll likely be dismissed as soon as there are less wounded that need care.”

“Why didn't you wake me this morning? I could have been of more help.”

“You're a remarkably deep sleeper, and I thought you could use the sleep. We had it well under control here.”

You frowned. “But—”

He cut you off. “You needed rest. It’s as simple as that. Consider it doctor’s orders.” He wore a small grin as he spoke, as if your tardiness was very amusing to him. You scowled as you watched him walk away, making his rounds and checking on patients. 

Zayne was right. A few days later, when the camp was back to its normal rhythm, you were notified that you were being relieved of duty and allowed to return home. You were truthfully a little disappointed it had all ended so quickly, but you couldn't deny that it would be nice to return to a proper bed and not have to worry about concealing your gender. 

You were still gathering the few things you had brought with you when you heard someone clearing their throat behind you. You turned around and saw Zayne standing there with his own pack slung over his shoulder. “We can leave together once you finish. I’ve told some of the others that you’ll return with me and continue your training at my own clinic, so there won't be any suspicion from us leaving together.”

He took a seat at the end of your cot, which had since been stripped of its linens, and watched as you packed up the handful of remaining things. He observed you quietly, offering to take your bag from you, which you declined on the grounds that anyone who saw would likely get the wrong idea. “Once we’re far enough away then.” Dare you say he was . . . pouting?

True to his word, the second you had reached the next town, he deemed that sufficient enough distance to gingerly remove your bag from your shoulder and place it over his own.

“You really don't have to, y’know? I can carry it fine by myself.”

He looked down at you, genuinely confused. “I know you can, but you shouldn't have to while I’m around. I wasn't the husband you deserved, and I’ll spend the rest of our marriage making up for that mistake.”

“Even if I’ve already forgiven you?”

“Especially then. I want to be the reason you have high standards for a man, and not just someone you’ve settled for.”

His earnest declaration moved something in you, causing your heart to flutter in your chest.

By nightfall, you were both worn out from walking. Seeing that you were beginning to fall behind, Zayne suggested finding an inn for the night, to which you readily agreed, in dire need of a good night's sleep. You imagined it was worse for Zayne, who refused to take so much as a modicum of a break and insisted on carrying both packs.

As much as you wanted to collapse onto the bed, Zayne grabbed your hand, preventing you from doing so. “I know you're tired, but there’s a bathhouse down the street. We should get cleaned up.” You almost sobbed at being so close to sleep but still so far, but he was right. A proper cleanse was long overdue.

You released his hand, and a hurt expression flashed across his face. “I’m just removing my bindings,” you laughed.

His face went scarlet as he rushed to turn his back to you. Such respect for your modesty despite the fact that he’d see it sooner or later. When you gave him the ok to turn around again, his eyes zeroed in on the wraps you had been using. “Was that one of my shirts?”

You laughed unabashedly. You had completely forgotten that in your anger you had used his clothing to make strips of cloth. “Maybe,” was all you said, but Zayne was a smart man who knew that “maybe” meant he was absolutely right. You almost felt bad now that the anger and embarrassment had mostly abated, but now you knew what his face looked like when he was at least mildly offended, so it was worth it in your book. “Why my shirt? Was no other cloth available?”

You walked past him, ignoring the question. As expected, he followed you out, shutting the door behind him. “So, we got married, and then the next morning you were gone and all I had was a note that said don't contact you. I can't imagine why your shirt became the victim of choice.”

Zayne scoffed, but ultimately couldn't defend himself. “You’ve made your point. I was awful. Should I expect any more damage when we get home? More ruined clothes? Broken kitchenware, perhaps?”

You shrugged. “You might sleep in an empty bed forever if that counts as damage. There’s another bedroom I would be more than happy to claim.”

“Need I remind you that you were in my bed just a few nights ago?”

“Only because you picked me up and then trapped me there.”

“You snuggled into me, so you obviously didn't hate it.”

He wasn't wrong, but you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of admitting it out loud. Your silence was just as well, though, if his smug expression was anything to go by. 

It was some hours later before you were both returning to your room for the night. The heated water had done wonders for your aching muscles, and it was such a relief to get the last of your makeup off. You were still dressed in men’s clothing, but that aside at least you no longer looked like one. 

Now, laying in bed with your husband, properly clean and so comfortable, you were eager to sleep. Zayne, however, was clearly not quite there yet. He was lying down facing you, fingering the cord around your neck, still securely looped through both of your rings.

“We should wear our rings properly,” he stated.

You looked at him with tired eyes. “Won’t leave it behind again, will you?”

“Never, and that's a promise,” he responded solemnly, talking about more than just the ring. You sat up to untie the cord, letting both rings slip off into your waiting palm. Rather than pick his own of the two, he plucked yours between two of his fingers and took your left hand into his, slipping on the ring just as he had done all those weeks ago at the altar. 

Once your ring was snugly back in its rightful place, he wordlessly offered you his own hand. You got the message and returned the gesture, slipping his ring back on his finger. While you were paying attention to your movements, Zayne was paying attention to you; the shape of your lips, the curve of your nose, the way your eyelashes fluttered when you blinked. You were beautiful, there was no denying it. That immaculate self control he had always prided himself on dissipated like smoke in the wind the second you looked at him.

You were already sitting so close, so it was nothing to lean forward just a bit, pressing his lips onto your own. It was little more than a chaste peck, but when he pulled away you both had dreamy expressions that mirrored each other. Neither of you said anything, but this time you both leaned in. His lips moved softly against yours, a small sigh exhaled from his nose as he deepened the kiss, his tongue licking the seam of your lips. You opened your mouth, letting his tongue intertwine with your own. He gripped your hips as he continued to kiss you, reluctant to part for even a moment, and pulled you into his lap so that you were straddling him.

In your surprise, you gasped and pushed away from him, bracing your hands on his shoulders to regain stability. From your new position, you could feel the way he was hardening beneath you and see that pretty flush on his cheeks in perfect clarity. Your heart pounded in your chest, the sound so loud you could barely hear the sound of Zayne’s shuddered breathing.

“Is this okay?” He asked you tenderly as his thumbs rubbed comforting circles where they still gripped your hips.

You nodded, but that wasn't enough for him. “I need to hear you. Do you want more?”

“I do, but I’ve never . . .” you trailed off, turning your head shyly.

“I haven't either. We can go slow. We don't have to do anything at all if you don't want to.”

“No, I do, but can we stay like this?” you asked timidly, still having trouble actually looking at him. He wasn't having that, though. His pretty wife was seated in his lap, but she couldn't even look at him. He turned your head to face him once more, his lips so close to yours but not quite touching, his breath ghosting over them and his nose brushing against yours.

“Like what? Like this?” He thrusted his hips upward, grinding into your covered pussy. You mewled at the delicious friction. “Haah—yeah, just like that.”

The room filled with the sound of your gasps and moans as he continued to grind your hips against his. But it wasn't enough for either of you. “Keep moving, my love.” He instructed, nuzzling his face into your throat to suckle at the soft skin as his newly-freed hands groped and squeezed at your breasts. Your back arched, pushing you further into your husband's hands. 

Without warning, he flipped you onto your back, pulling one of your legs over his hip for more access to continue grinding into you. He kissed up from your throat that was now covered in blooming bruises, across your jaw, and back to your lips, suckling your tongue and nipping at your lips.

His hard length was throbbing in his pants, precum soaking through the fabric. It was too much and not enough at the same time. “I’m so close, darling.” The steady rhythm he had set faltered, his raw, primal need completely taking over.

You could only whine in response, your mind completely void of anything other than your husband on top of you and his hard cock thrusting against you. He wasn’t faring any better, babbling about how good it all felt. “Say my name. Scream your husband’s name when he makes you cum.”

You were gasping and panting, struggling to say the singular syllable of his name, but it was enough. Enough for him to bite down on the groove between your neck and shoulder, muffling the sounds of his ecstasy and bringing you over the edge with him.

Empty. Again. You were beginning to think Zayne was incapable of staying in bed past sunrise. You sat up and looked around the room, finding him sitting by the window, curtains drawn back just enough for him to have enough light to read his log books by. “How long have you been up?” You asked groggily, squinting even in the minimal amount of sunlight.

He looked up from the pages of his meticulously taken notes to see you staring at him curiously, hair still mussed from bed. “Not long. I couldn't fall back asleep, so I figured I’d be productive.”

“You should take breaks sometimes. You’ll burn out.” you remarked, a frown pulling at the corners of your lips.

“I’d consider last night a break, wouldn't you? If it was more of a stress relief for me than it was for you then I’ll have to remedy that when we get home.”

Your cheeks flamed at his insinuation, and he chuckled at your obvious embarrassment. Truth be told, he had only been able to read a few lines before his mind wandered back to the way you had writhed beneath him, how the sounds of your pleasure had almost been his undoing. He wanted more. Wanted to know what you look like under those clothes, how you'd scream when you truly felt him for the first time, how warm and wet you would feel around him. By the time you woke up, the book was just to hide how aroused he was from imagining you in various positions on his bed.

But his efforts were for naught when you climbed out of bed and instead walked over to curl into his lap instead. You didn't miss what he had been trying to hide. “Are you—”

“Hush,” he snapped. 

“Do you want help, or should I step out and let you handle it yourself?” You minx. You’d been awake for all of ten minutes and were already teasing him. In lieu of a verbal response, he led your hand to cup his hardened length through his pants, and you squeezed lightly, making him hiss.

You trailed your hand up to the waistband of his pants, hooking your fingers into it to pull it down and allow his twitching cock to spring free. Your eyes widened. He was so much bigger than you had anticipated, even after feeling him through his pants, but actually seeing it was different than using your imagination to guess based on feeling alone.

You wrapped your hand around his shaft, your movements unsure. He groaned, urging you to please move your hand. His words emboldened you, and you began to slowly stroke up and down, causing his breaths to come in quick pants. He bit his bottom lip to muffle the sound when you stroked the tip, his hips thrusting into your hand involuntarily.

His voice was strained when he choked out, “Like that, baby, just like that—oh—yes!”

He watched the way your hand pumped up and down his leaking cock, his own precum being used to slicken his length. You slunk down onto your knees between his legs, and he looked down at you in something between shock and adoration, his jaw slack and eyes begging for everything you were willing to give so long as you didn't stop.

You gave an experimental lick to his weeping tip, eliciting the most pathetic sound you had ever heard Zayne make. You took even more of him in your mouth, hoping to get even more sinful sounds from him. “Slow—Ngh! S-slow down, I’m gonna—”

He wanted to cum. He didn't want it to end. He wanted to push your head further down. He didn't want to hurt you. It was all so overwhelming. He was so consumed with pleasure he couldn't focus on anything but the silky sensation of your mouth licking and suckling at the most sensitive part of him, using your hand to stroke whatever didn't quite fit.

Your glossy eyes looking up at him between his legs is what pushed him over the edge, his cum spurting hot and thick rivulets into your mouth and moans of your name spilling freely from his bitten lips. You swallowed his spend, and he stared at you, awestruck and still panting. “That was . . . You were . . .” He tried to get out some deliverance of praise, but his words were failing him. There was no adequate way to describe the sheer bliss you had bestowed upon him.

You were rubbing your thighs together, desperately seeking any sort of friction by that point. This, of course, didn't escape Zayne’s notice. His eyes sparkled, mischief dancing in his beautiful green gaze. “Did sucking my cock get you wet?” He asked with mock sympathy. “All you have to do is ask, my sweet wife.”

So you did. And he delighted in telling you “No.” Your face fell at his words, distressed that he wouldn't lift a finger to quell the burning ache in your core. He continued speaking, explaining exactly what he meant. “And not because I don't want you. I do. But when I take you for the first time, I want it to be in our marital bed, the way it should have been from the very beginning.” 

You whined at his words, the beginnings of either an argument or begging on the tip of your tongue, your pride and neediness warring against each other. He bent down, face close enough that it was all you could focus on. “Consider it a punishment for risking your life with that foolish plan of yours.”

And a punishment it certainly was. The trip back was miserable, your soaked undergarments glued to your skin keeping you all too aware of the need that Zayne had built and then promptly left to simmer for the remainder of the trek home.

Your punishment quickly turned into his own. He should have known that you wouldn't just accept the situation. You got under his skin like no woman ever had, relentlessly teasing him and pretending you weren't intentionally doing anything. By the time you were finally crossing the threshold of your shared home, he couldn't keep his hands to himself anymore. The bags had barely hit the floor before Zayne was scooping you into his arms, his lips colliding with yours with urgency, insistently parting them with prods of his tongue. He carried you to your shared bedroom, dropping you onto the bed and hurriedly pulling off his shirt, revealing muscle you truly hadn't expected the doctor to have. 

Unable to hold himself back, your clothes quickly followed, discarded with his own on the floor. He groaned, your bare form beneath him the very picture of perfection. The heavens themselves could not hold a candle to the divinity you radiated in his eyes. 

“You're so beautiful,” he murmured, eyes roving over every inch of exposed skin. His hands kneaded and groped at your flesh with a mind of their own. He was transfixed on the way you squirmed and writhed, urging him to touch you properly, where you needed him most. He hadn't done anything yet and already your breaths were coming in quick pants from the anticipation.

He had spent hours between your thighs, using both his hot tongue and long fingers before he was finally swiping the head of his cock through your dripping folds. He pushed in slowly, the stretch of accommodating his girth burning even after all the prep he had done. He hissed through his teeth. “You're so tight, my love.”

Zayne pushed in slowly until his hips were flush with yours, filling you up so completely you felt like you would split in two. He groaned as he took in the sight of you taking him all the way to the base, your tight cunt clamping around him. “Please, Zayne,” you pleaded. “More.”

Who was he to deny his pretty wife what she was asking for? He pulled out, thrusting back in roughly and setting a nearly animalistic pace almost instantly. His professional precision translated remarkably well to the bedroom, hitting your deepest spots that made you see stars. 

He gripped both of your thighs, pushing your legs up over his shoulders, allowing him to reach even deeper. You moaned loudly, your voice joining the symphony of skin on skin. His hips pistoned in and out of you furiously, burying his cock into your gummy walls repeatedly.

His guttural moans and praises stimulated you just as much as the mind-numbing sensation of his length stuffing your needy hole. “So pretty, so perfect, and all mine.” Zayne was babbling, not even thinking about the words that spewed from his lips. “You’re clenching so— Hng—! So tight around me. Cum for me. Cum for me, my sweet wife.”

His cockhead nudging insistently your cervix, his desperate pleas for you to cum, his flushed skin, him—it was all too much. Your back arched as much as the position he had folded you in allowed, your cunt  spasming around him as he pushed you over the edge. “Th-there she is. Ah—yes—!”

He abruptly pulled out, his chest heaving. “We’re not done. Roll over, my love.”

You did as he said, your knees propped up on the bed with your hands supporting your weight. He tsked behind you, placing his large hand between your shoulderblades and pushing down until your face was in the pillows. “Just like that, perfect.” 

He positioned himself behind you and dragged his fingers through the slick that was leaking down your thighs. “Such a messy girl. All this for me?” The pleasurable sensation of his fingers was replaced with a stinging on your ass, quickly soothed by his warm palm rubbing the now lightly-throbbing skin. Your sharp cry sent heat shooting through his abdomen. He lined himself up with your quivering hole, swiping the weeping head of his cock through your soaked folds before pushing in again in one swift thrust.

“Ohhh! Oh my god!” You squealed, your hands gripping tightly at the sheets beneath you. Zayne’s grunts filled the room, his eyes transfixed on the way the muscles in your back moved and flexed when you arched oh so perfectly just for him. It wasn't enough to just look.

He halted his movements, adjusting your legs to straighten out, allowing him to lay his weight on top of you, your back pressed to his chest. He mouthed at your neck, rutting his hips into you once more. This new position felt infinitely more intimate, so much of his bare skin in contact with yours. He overlaid his left hand with your own to intertwine your fingers, your twin wedding bands glinting in the low light.

He wormed his hand beneath your body to rub circles on your sensitive clit, the rush of euphoria almost immediately bringing you to climax. You chanted his name like a mantra, like it was the only thing that mattered, and, in that moment, it was. He sucked dark marks onto your neck and shoulders, nipping and kissing every inch he could reach. 

His groans were morphing into breathy, whiny exhalations as he neared his own peak. “You take it so well. My little wife was made for her husband, weren't you? F-fuck! Cum with me. Ngh—! Cum for me!”

He sped up, completely unrestrained, pummeling your insides until your muscles were clenching and your cunt was spasming and creaming around his cock so deep inside you. “That’s it, yes, yes! Oh, I’m, I’m gonna—!”

Hot ropes of cum spilled inside you, and he worked you through both of your orgasms with short, shallow thrusts, unwilling to pull out of your squelching heat for even a moment until he was sure that he had given you all he could offer. He stilled on top of you, keeping you plugged full of his seed.

You were both gasping for breath, and you whimpered when he finally pulled out, his thick spend leaking out onto the bedsheets below. He rolled over next to you, pulling you into his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you. He kissed the top of your head where you were nuzzled into him, a tender sign of his affection just after his unbridled show of lust. “Would you prefer to rest or bathe?”

“Bathe. We’re sweaty, and the sheets are gross.” You made a face of distaste, eliciting a light laugh from Zayne.

“Bathe it is then. Wait here. I’ll prepare everything.” He rose from the bed, the chill of the room replacing the warmth of his skin. He donned a robe, your eyes lingering on his beautifully built figure.

When he returned, you were halfway asleep, exhausted from the night's rigorous activities. He scooped you into his arms and carried you to the bath, lowering you in gently before climbing in behind you. Somehow, you felt even more vulnerable like this than when he was literally inside you. You relished in the way his hands skimmed your wet skin and lathered your hair, massaging your scalp as he did so. 

You returned the favor afterwards, switching places so that you could run your hands through his dark hair. He hummed at the way your nimble fingers felt running through the soft strands and across his skin. He stayed like that for some time, almost falling asleep himself, more relaxed than he had been in a very long time, the combination of your attention and the warmth of the water offering unparalleled comfort.

He had to practically force himself out of the bath before he truly did fall asleep. Now, dried and dressed, he was preparing the bed with fresh sheets, aided by you in smoothing it across the surface of the bed. The sullied ones were discarded to the floor, joining the day’s clothing to be dealt with tomorrow. Where Zayne had put as much distance between you that very first day as he could, he was now loath to not have you as near to him as possible, safe in his arms.

The breaths from your nose fanned across his bare chest, your body pulled as close to him as he could have you. He thought you were already asleep, but you took him by surprise, raising your face to press a small kiss to his chin, a whispered, barely audible, “I love you,” slipping past your lips and trickling into his ears like sweet honey.

Zayne’s breath stuttered, his heart almost stopping its steady beat in his chest. He mirrored your actions with a chaste kiss to your forehead and a confession that, prior to you, he never thought he would find himself uttering. “I love you, too, my sweet wife.” 

There, wrapped in each other’s embrace, you both drifted off to sleep.