#jbg

But tonight?

You couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“I’m not asking for everything, Ambessa,” you said, voice strained. “Just something. A moment. A sign that I’m still more than a fixture in your life.”

She didn’t even look up from the scroll in her hands.

“That’s unfair,” she muttered.

“What’s unfair is loving someone who’s only present in theory.”

That got her attention. She turned, eyes hard.

“You think this life is easy?” she snapped. “You think I have the luxury of emotion every time you feel neglected?”

“It’s not about luxury, Ambessa… it’s about trying!”

Her voice thundered back. “And maybe I am trying. Maybe you’re just too fragile to see it.”

You flinched.

Her words cut sharper than any blade. But it was the way she stepped toward you, fist clenched, not to strike, but too fast, too furious, that made you instinctively step back and stumble. Your shoulder hit the edge of the stone table behind you. Hard.

Pain shot through your side.

She froze. Color drained from her face. “I didn’t mean…”

But you were already blinking through tears.

Not from the pain.

From the look on her face. From the realization that the one person who made you feel safest… had just made you feel small.

You didn’t say anything.

Just turned and walked out.

Locked the door behind you.

⸻

Later That Night

She knocked for hours. Whispered apologies through the door. You lay curled on the bed, silent.

By morning, you opened it.

But you didn’t return to her arms.

You passed her without a glance, lips pressed into a line, heart cracked open but sealed shut.

She reached for your hand.

You pulled away.

“Don’t,” you said, calm and cold. “Let’s not pretend.”

Her eyes glistened with something dangerously close to grief.

But you let her sit with it.

Just like you had.

⸻

The palace hadn’t changed, but Ambessa had.

Her posture was still proud, her commands still absolute, her image unshaken to the outside world. But behind closed doors, she was quieter. She hovered near you like a shadow, waiting for an opening that never came.

You ate meals across long tables in silence. She’d reach for your hand on occasion, once at dinner, another time in the garden but you gave her nothing but a glance. Not cruel. Just… indifferent.

She started sending flowers to your quarters. Rare desert blooms. Peonies from Piltover. A poem once, hand written and pressed between pages of a book she once caught you rereading.

You tucked them away.

Unopened.

Unburned.

You wanted her to feel the weight of what she had done, not just with her hands, but with her distance. The chasm she created.

And she did.

Ambessa was unraveling beneath your silence.

⸻

One Week Later

She stood in your doorway.

Rain tapped the stained glass like it was trying to fill the silence between you.

“I miss you,” she said finally, voice hoarse. “I miss your laugh. Your fire. Even your sharp tongue when I leave dishes in your study.”

You didn’t look up from your journal. “That version of me doesn’t exist anymore.”

Ambessa stepped inside slowly.

“Do you hate me?”

You closed the book. “No.”

That seemed to hurt more than yes.

Because if you didn’t hate her… then your silence was deliberate.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. She’d said it a dozen times before, but this time her voice cracked. “I was scared. Of needing you too much. Of letting you see how much this crown costs me. But I should’ve trusted you. I should’ve never…”

She stopped herself.

You watched her, carefully. “You should’ve heard me.”

She nodded, shame dragging her shoulders low.

“I don’t want you to beg, Ambessa. I want you to understand. That loving me comes with the cost of letting me in. Or you’ll end up ruling alone… surrounded by silence.”

Ambessa stepped closer, but didn’t touch you. “What do I do to earn you back?”

You stared at her for a long time.

“You start over. Slowly. Honestly. Without power games. And you sit with the ache like I did.”

She nodded.

And for the first time in weeks… you let her sit beside you.

Not in forgiveness.

Not yet.

But in hope.