Kingdom of Gaelica (closed for QuirkyQuill)

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over her cheekbones as he kissed her once more, slow and deliberate, savoring the taste of her lips. The warmth of her skin beneath his touch anchored him in this moment. Pulling back just enough to meet her gaze, his voice softened, low and intimate. “Come with me.”

His hand slid from her face to intertwine with hers, his fingers firm but gentle as he guided her toward the bed. The room was dimly lit, the flickering fire casting golden hues across her features, making her appear almost otherworldly. She followed him without hesitation, her trust as palpable as the air between them. When they reached the edge of the bed, he turned to her, his free hand trailing along her arm, sending a ripple of goosebumps in its wake.

“You are everything I never dared to hope for,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Let me show you how much you mean to me.”

His hands moved to the ties at the neckline of her chemise, his movements deliberate but unhurried. His fingers brushed against her skin as he worked, and he felt her breath hitch in response. Slowly, the fabric loosened, the garment yielding to his touch. Aidan’s gaze remained fixed on her face, watching for any sign of hesitation. Instead, he found only trust and a quiet yearning that mirrored his own.

As the chemise slipped over her shoulders, his breath caught. The fabric cascaded down her body, pooling at her feet, leaving her bare before him. For a long moment, he said nothing, his eyes roaming over her with an intensity that made the air between them almost crackle.

Her skin, illuminated by the soft firelight, was smooth and flawless, with a soft glow that seemed to radiate warmth. His gaze traveled from the elegant curve of her neck to the delicate slope of her shoulders. Her collarbones, beautifully defined, framed the swell of her breasts, their fullness rising and falling with each of her shallow breaths. The shadows played across her skin, accentuating the subtle dip of her waist and the gentle flare of her hips. Her stomach, taut and feminine, gave way to the soft lines of her thighs, strong yet graceful. Every part of her felt like a revelation, each curve and hollow calling to him, drawing him closer.

“You’re breathtaking,” he whispered, his voice reverent, as though he were speaking in the presence of something sacred. His hands returned to her, sliding up from her hips to rest gently on her waist. His thumbs brushed along the sides of her ribs, his touch feather-light, reverent. “Every part of you… so perfect.”

Aidan leaned forward, his lips finding her shoulder, pressing a lingering kiss there before trailing down to the hollow of her collarbone. His hands moved with the same deliberation, sliding along her sides, memorizing every curve, every line. His mouth followed the path of his hands, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake as he worshiped her with his lips, his breath warm against her skin.

“You deserve to be adored,” he murmured, his voice muffled against her skin. “And I will adore you, Meya. Every inch of you.”

Guiding her back toward the bed, Aidan lowered her with care, as though she were the most precious thing he’d ever held. He knelt beside her, his hands framing her face as he kissed her deeply, pouring every ounce of his desire, his admiration, his love into the kiss.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against her lips, his voice a low, possessive growl, tempered with tenderness. “And I am yours.”

His hands resumed their exploration, trailing down the length of her body with deliberate care. Every inch of her felt like uncharted territory, and Aidan intended to worship her fully, to show her with every touch, every kiss, just how much she had come to mean to him.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Meya felt certain that there was no grand afterlife that could bring her to the cusp of fulfilment in the way that Aidan’s mouth against hers did. He left her dizzy and wanting more when he pulled back from her, and her fingers wound through his as if clinging for life. The closer they walked to the bed the more anxious she felt about this decision. She did not regret her choice in the slightest, but she felt woefully under prepared at the realization that he was going to see all of her.

Her scars were less visible than Aidan's, but she certainly carried her own remnants of a life dictated by war, forever imprinted in her skin. Where his came from battle, hers were inflicted to teach, ensuring she endured very little in battle. A thin white line traced the bottom of her shoulder blade, the precision a testament to the skill that had left it there. The back of her right thigh had a grouping of faded scars that looked suspiciously like a letter ‘R’, haphazardly carved. In the time she'd been in Gaelica the gash above her eye had nearly healed, as had the dagger slice on her arm, though that looked as though it would leave behind a reminder.

The slight tug on the fabric from his work undoing her chemise caused her breathing to falter. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the dim light making him appear even taller than he usually did, but where she would have historically felt defensive, she was now left with wanting. A desire that pushed away any sense of shyness she might have otherwise harbored, and as she felt the fabric caress down her skin, Meya grew warmer between her legs. She inhaled sharply, her eyes watching him intently, the blue of her irises darkening with her need. Whatever insecurity that might have fluttered through her mind was quickly put to rest as she watched his eyes roam over her body.

Meya could see the way he wanted her, his expression conveying the same hunger that was growing inside of her, desperate to be fed, and knowing his body was the only thing that could satisfy her. Then his hands were back on her body, a small gasp escaping at the way his lips on her collarbone drove her further into the chasm. Her head tilted back as he studied her body, every soft touch bringing her sparks of intensity that she didn't know how to control.

Meya had never before been rendered so still. Under his attention, she found that she couldn't remember how to move, her limbs heavy, afraid to break the spell. This was a dream from which she never wanted to awaken, and as he moved her to the bed, and the cool blankets sent a ripple of pleasure up her spine, Meya was drowning in the smell of him all around her.

“You’re mine.”

Those two words sent a renewed frenzy from her pelvis, and though she didn't understand it, felt the area between her legs drip with the excitement of his possessiveness. Words that from him felt safe. His growl pulled a whimper from her, the sound unlocking something primal inside her.

“Aidan.” His name came out a plea, her eyes closed as she vibrated with every stroke he made on her skin. She needed to touch him. Needed him to feel even half as much as he made her feel. Opening her eyes, her face carried an expression of thirst as she leaned her head forward, capturing his lips with hers. Her tongue parted their lips assertively, deeply stroking against his in a steady rhythm, feeling as though she had just found water after a long drought. Reaching down, she slid her hands down the length of his torso, her fingers finding the bottom of his tunic. She slipped her fingers under the fabric, immediately finding solace in the heat of his bare skin. His body was lean and muscular from years of battle, and her fingers teased out every line between his muscle. Pushing her way further up his chest, she pulled back from their kiss, her chest still heaving from breathlessness. Her hands explored him under his tunic, rubbing against his pectoral muscles before moving back down to his abdomen.

Her body reacted to the feel of him, her nipples standing erect in the cool night air.

“Just the feel of you makes me ache, Aidan.” Her voice was raspy when she spoke, breaking slightly as the enormity of the moment settled around her.

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan’s breath shuddered as her words washed over him, raw and unguarded. Her confession echoed in his chest, a low thrum of desire and need that demanded he give her everything she craved—and more. The way her hands moved over his chest, exploring him as though committing his every muscle and contour to memory, fueled a fire that threatened to consume him. He captured her gaze, his own eyes dark with intent as he leaned closer, his voice low and rough.

“I’ll make you ache in ways you’ve never imagined.”

He pulled his tunic over his head in one smooth motion, discarding it carelessly to the floor. The cool air kissed his bare skin, but the heat radiating between them was all he noticed. Lowering himself onto the bed beside her, his hand traced a deliberate path from her collarbone to the curve of her breast, pausing to cup her fully. He relished the way her body responded to him, her nipples firm against his palm, her breathing shallow and uneven. His thumb brushed over the peak, slow and teasing, eliciting a quiet gasp from her lips.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, leaning down to press his lips to the hollow of her throat. He kissed his way lower, savoring the warmth and softness of her skin beneath his mouth. His hands continued their exploration, sliding over the curve of her waist and the flare of her hips. Every scar, every mark, was treated with reverence, his lips lingering on each one as though to replace old pain with new tenderness.

“You’ve endured so much,” he murmured, his voice barely audible against her skin. “Let me take it all away.”

His kisses trailed lower, his hands guiding her thighs apart as he settled himself between them. The scent of her arousal was intoxicating, and Aidan paused to admire her, his breath warm against the most sensitive part of her. Slowly, reverently, he pressed a kiss to the soft skin of her inner thigh, his stubble leaving a faint trail of sensation in its wake. His hands gripped her hips firmly but gently, holding her steady as he moved closer.

Aidan’s tongue traced a slow, deliberate path, exploring her with a combination of tenderness and hunger. Her body responded instantly, arching toward him, and he took his time learning every reaction, every sound she made, as though it were a symphony meant only for him. His hands caressed her thighs, anchoring her to the bed as he brought her pleasure, his lips and tongue moving with purpose.

The taste of her, the way her body trembled beneath his touch, only fueled his resolve. Aidan was determined to leave no part of her untouched, no desire unfulfilled. He wanted her to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that she belonged to him—and he to her.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Every word Aidan uttered evoked a physical reaction from her core, and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the world spinning for a moment. Ache. Not pain. Every inch of her was crying out for some piece of him, and she knew his words had already proven true. Her body had never felt so alive and yet so helpless before, but she trusted him with this vulnerability of hers. She trusted him with the most intimate parts of her, and right now, his light was pulling her from the shadows in which she had been buried for so long.

As he removed his tunic, her eyes drank him in as she now placed imagery with touch. The sight of him drew a deep inhale, her chest rising slowly with the effort, as her longing for him only grew. She watched him with the quiet, blue eyed intensity of a calm sky before a storm as he moved back to her, his warmth immediately driving out the cool air that had hit her body during his absence. Her body moved closer to his, seeking out that heat and comfort, her hand lifting to his shoulder as her fingers moved down his skin. Her breath caught as his hands returned to her body, touching her in places that had never known such tenderness. Her back arched towards him as his callouses from years of wielding a weapon skimmed the smooth skin of her breast, her eyes closing at the sensation.

She was certain he could feel the thunderous rhythm of her heart as his lips found that sensitive space on her throat, her head leaning back into the pillow to more easily give him access. Meya had never felt so fragile before, and as he moved slowly down her body, her eyes slowly opened, watching every gentle press of his lips against her skin, every glide of his fingers against her, leaving a trail of limitless desire in his wake.

Her legs spread for him easily, his slow journey down her guiding her to a place where she felt safe to open herself up to him completely. She could feel the heat and wetness at her very core, her body craving something she couldn’t quite explain, but knew that only Aidan could satisfy it. At the faintest touch of his lips to her thigh, her eyes closed again, her body shivering at his hot breath against her.

The moment his mouth found her center, she cried out softly before biting down on her bottom lip to stifle the sound. She was lost to him as his mouth moved against her, and she fought for breath as he stimulated senses she didn’t know she possessed, slowly at first, her body relaxing against the bed. The longer his tongue explored her, the more sensitive her body became and she felt that ache beginning to bloom faster.

“Aidan,” she managed, her voice a plea, “what are you doing to me?” The deliberate motion of his tongue against her pulled her higher, to some unknown plane of existence, the scratchiness of his stubble between her thighs accentuating the intimacy of what he was doing. Never in her wildest dreams when she knocked on his door had she imagined this. Meya had a very narrow idea of what it meant to be intimate with someone, and Aidan had deftly wiped the canvas clean, bringing her to a new world entirely.

She writhed under him, her body testing the limits of his hands on her thighs, a fire lighting so brightly in the innermost reaches of her body it felt as though it were on the verge of exploding. Needing to expel her energy somewhere, Meya, almost without realizing what she was doing, lifted her hand to her breast, laying it where his hand had been earlier and squeezed, her body reacting to the pressure. She was restless under the most calm of circumstances, and Aidan had driven her to a place filled with vibrancy. Never before had she felt so secure in her vulnerability, and as his tongue stroked a particularly sensitive nerve, she whimpered out of sheer need as her body pushed against his mouth of its own volition.

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan raised his head, his breath warm and ragged as he looked up at her. The sight of Meya sprawled before him, her skin flushed and glistening, was more beautiful than anything he had ever beheld. Her chest heaved, her fingers tangled in the sheets as though anchoring herself against the tidal wave of sensations he had unleashed within her. He moved up her body, trailing kisses along her trembling frame, his lips soft against her heated skin.

When his eyes met hers, there was no question—no uncertainty. Only trust. Only desire.

He brushed a stray lock of hair from her damp forehead, his voice low and tender. “I want you, Meya. All of you. Tell me this is what you want, too.”

Her gaze held his, and in her eyes, he saw both her answer and the entirety of her heart. Her whispered consent was the final piece he needed to surrender himself completely to her. His lips claimed hers again, slow and unhurried, his weight pressing her gently into the mattress. He let his body rest against hers, his hands cradling her face as their kiss deepened, his need for her intensifying with every passing moment.

He shifted his hips, aligning their bodies as he murmured against her lips, “I’ll go slow, love. Tell me if you need me to stop.”

Aidan guided himself to her entrance, pausing as the warmth of her wrapped around him. He exhaled shakily, pressing a kiss to her temple as he began to push forward, his movements measured and deliberate. The tightness, the heat—it was overwhelming, a sensation unlike anything he’d ever known. He stopped to let her adjust, his lips trailing over her cheeks, her jaw, her neck, as though his kisses could convey the depth of his restraint, his care.

“You’re perfect,” he breathed, his voice a reverent whisper against her ear.

As she relaxed beneath him, Aidan moved deeper, inch by inch, his entire being focused on her. The sound of her breathing, the way her fingers clung to his arms—every detail guided him, assuring him that she was with him, that she wanted this as much as he did. When he was fully seated within her, he paused again, his forehead resting against hers as they shared a quiet moment of connection.

“You feel like you were made for me,” he murmured, his voice husky with emotion. “Like the gods themselves wove us together.”

Slowly, he began to move, the rhythm of his hips deliberate and steady as he sought to bring her pleasure while holding onto his own fraying control. Each thrust was an unspoken vow, his body speaking the words his voice could not. He whispered her name like a prayer, his hands exploring the length of her body as though committing her to memory. Every sound she made, every shiver and gasp, only spurred him to give her more.

The intimacy between them was unlike anything Aidan had ever experienced—a blend of desire and devotion so profound it left him breathless. As the intensity between them grew, he kissed her deeply, his movements growing more confident, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony. It was as though the world outside the room ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them, tangled in each other, their souls entwined.​

 

[QuirkyQuill]

When he withdrew, her body felt his absence acutely, protesting at the sudden cessation of pressure. Her eyes opened as she found him, her hunger evident in the way her lips were parted, her breathing desperate. As he slowly maneuvered his way back up her body, Meya’s hands met him, starting with her fingers running through his dark hair, sliding down his shoulders as his body covered hers. She was lost in the weight of him against her, the feeling of it comfortable rather than stifling, as she would have anticipated.

“I want you, Meya. All of you. Tell me this is what you want, too.”

His voice was there again, taking her on a journey with words alone, as her gaze peered into his. Her fingers gently rubbed against the skin where his neck and shoulder met, and she nodded slowly.

“It is,” she whispered, her eyes conveying every ounce of need that had settled deep within. His kiss pulled her back into the depths of their intimacy, her tongue massaging his with slow strokes that matched his. Her core was heating back up at the closeness, his hardness pressed against her stomach, reminding her just how much he wanted her. Sliding her hands to his back, she followed the contours of his shoulder blades, determined to memorize every part of his body she could.

As he moved to enter her, Meya’s heart seized up momentarily, expecting pain and discomfort. Digging her fingers into him, her head arched back as she felt him slide inside of her, her body stretching with ease to accommodate him. Instead of the pain she was expecting, Meya only felt pleasure, and she cried out gently at the overwhelming sensations coursing through her as her body took all of him in.

“Aidan,” she mewled his name, her sex involuntarily squeezing around him as her muscles contracted. His words wrapped around her heart, and while she felt too lost to respond, she felt the truth of what he said. It was as though his body had been made to make hers feel pleasure. As he began to move inside her, Meya pressed her lips to his throat, needing to taste him. Her right hand rested on the side of his neck as her mouth explored the parts of him she could reach. Darting her tongue out against the hollow of his throat, her tongue felt that same rough stubble that had subdued her earlier. He pushed into her deeply, causing her to gasp against his skin, and she nuzzled into his neck.

It furthered her arousal with how thoroughly he infiltrated all of her senses. Through her mouth, gently sucking on his shoulder, the faint salty taste of him from his efforts tickled her taste buds. The callouses and warmth of his hands all over her body eased any tension she may have held in her muscles, her body completely giving into his will. Her eyes lidded with passion and desire, watched him for a moment, the tenderness that melded with his own pleasure driving her need to see him just as fulfilled.Meya could hear him moving in and out of her, his ministrations to her body having left her so wet and hot that the sounds of their intimacy reached her ears, solidifying just how real this moment was. As she buried her face in his shoulder, she could smell both of them, her arousal mixed with his sweat and natural scent, tantalizing her.

There were no words to describe how Aidan had enthralled her; how he had managed to cut down more of those bars that had caged the part of her that could feel. For the love of the gods, did he make her feel. As his mouth settled over hers once again, her legs slid down his, wrapping around them so that she felt his rhythm more keenly. The way her breasts moved against his chest, her sensitive nipples hard against him, every stroke sent lightning down her body.

A new sensation was beginning to pool in her center, an anticipation building with every push of him against her body. Whimpering through their joined mouths, her hands fell to either side of her head on the pillow, her head tilting further back to give him more access to her mouth. His patience with her body touched her on all levels. She pulled back from their kiss, her head turning to the side as she gasped for breath, her chest heaving with every move.

“Oh, my gods,” she choked out, her voice husky and desperate as that slow build began to intensify. Closing her eyes, her eyebrows creased together as she felt this overwhelming restlessness in her nether regions. “Aidan, I need you…harder.” Meya couldn’t make out a coherent sentence as her body arched into his, nor did she know what was waiting for her on the other end of this journey, but she just knew that her body craved his and needed more.

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan’s eyes darkened at her plea, her voice a blend of desperation and longing that sent a primal wave surging through him. The way she said his name - breathy, broken, yet commanding - struck something deep inside him. He held himself still for a moment, his chest heaving as he gazed down at her. Strands of her hair clung to her damp forehead, her cheeks flushed with passion, and her lips parted as she struggled to catch her breath. She was breathtaking, utterly vulnerable yet completely unguarded, and it stirred in him not just desire, but something deeper.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice rough but tender, his lips brushing against her temple. “Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you.”

He shifted, planting his forearms on either side of her head as he adjusted his angle. The strength of his body pressed against hers, and he began to move again, slower at first, testing her body’s response. Her legs wrapped more tightly around him, pulling him deeper into her, and he obliged, driving into her with more purpose. The slick heat of her, the way her body welcomed him so completely, sent him dangerously close to the edge. He gritted his teeth, determined to focus solely on her.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear as he thrust into her. His voice was strained, his need evident, but he was careful, attuned to every sound she made, every shudder of her body. “The way you feel... God, Meya, you’ll undo me.”

She arched beneath him, her body meeting his with a rhythm that spoke of her growing urgency. Her hands found his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as if to anchor herself against the storm he was building within her. Aidan’s movements grew more deliberate, his pace quickening as her words echoed in his mind. Harder. She had asked for more, and he would give her everything.

Leaning down, he captured her mouth again, his kiss bruising and possessive. His tongue sought hers, tangling in a dance that matched the motion of their bodies. The bed creaked beneath them, the sounds of their union filling the room—a symphony of gasps, whispers, and the undeniable rhythm of flesh against flesh.

“Meya,” he groaned against her lips, his voice a low growl, raw with emotion and desire. “You’re mine, do you hear me? Every part of you—every breath, every cry—it belongs to me.”

His hand slid down her body, tracing the curve of her waist and hip before gripping her thigh, lifting it higher to change the angle. He felt her body shudder beneath him, her breath catching as his deeper thrusts struck something that sent shockwaves through her. Her reaction spurred him on, and he drove into her with more intensity, his control fraying as he watched her unravel.

Her cries grew louder, her back arching off the bed as her body clung to his, and Aidan knew she was close. He pressed his forehead to hers, his movements steady but unrelenting, his voice a husky whisper. “Let go, Meya. I want to feel you come apart for me.”​

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Meya’s eyes opened as he stilled, her nerves sparking at the change in expression, his green eyes piercing her with his own desire. She had never seen a man look at a woman the way he was looking at her. He had seen men lust after women, had watched their look of desire to conquer women, and had even witnessed their intent to break a woman. The way Aidan looked at her, their chests both rising and falling in a frenzied beat, was something wholly new to her. She was staring into emotion so deep and otherworldly, Meya felt her own soul cascade towards his as if it were a physical thing.

“I’ve got you.”

“I know,” she whispered, her eyes closing at the brush of his lips against the side of her head. A moment so tender in the midst of aching need that it nearly brought tears to her eyes. She believed him when he said those words, and nothing could have prepared her for the intensity of her emotions.

Her breath hitched as he shifted his position, her fingers digging into his skin as her body tightened at the change in pressure. Feeling the weight of his body pushing her into the mattress sent a shiver through her, and she was amazed that she still had that reaction left in her. Lifting her head ever so slightly, she planted open mouthed kisses along the side of his neck, sucking gently at the crook where his neck met shoulder.

Meya no longer possessed control of herself, and her body felt as though it moved against him of its own accord. Her rhythm matched his, and she soon found herself drowning in the feel of his chest pressing against hers, her legs clinging to his, and his hardness riding the walls of her sex so thoroughly her back arched into him as her muscles contracted around him, desperately chasing some unknown destination.

As he increased his speed, she cried out, every drive he made into her pushing her closer to that mountain top. Her mouth parted for his hungrily, and when his tongue claimed hers with the force of a man claiming victory after a war, her moan vibrated between them as she melded into him.

“You’re mine, do you hear me? Every part of you—every breath, every cry—it belongs to me.”

The huskiness of his voice and the message in his words sent heat coursing through every nerve ending. He had driven all manner of speech from her body, and all she could do was nod as he drove into her. Meya knew that her body would only ever belong to him, regardless of what the future held. There was no other man who walked this earth that could unravel her with his lips, unsteady her with his fingers, or leave her open and bare with his words.

His hands were on her again, moving her, and her body instantly responded to his cock pushing deeper.

“Oh, gods, yes,” she cried out, her head arching backwards. She was standing on the edge of that mountain top, unsure of what would happen if she leapt, and as her head relaxed once more, she opened her eyes to look at him. Her blue eyes were nearly black, pupils dilated with wanton desire, their expression blissful agony. Meya wrapped her legs fully around his backside, taking all of him inside her, urging him on to fill her completely.

“Let go, Meya. I want to feel you come apart for me.”

His words pushed her off the mountain top, and she plummeted into overwhelming ecstasy. Clinging to him, her body trembled and shook as lightning danced across her vision with every stroke against her. Burying her face in his neck, her voice cracked against his skin as his name on her lips dissolved into a sound of overwhelming pleasure. Whimpering, every movement his body made against her sent wildfire raging through to her very core.

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan felt her climax ripple through her, her body clenching around him with an intensity that stole his breath. He held her tightly, his arms braced around her trembling form, as if anchoring her in the midst of the storm. Her cries, muffled against his neck, reverberated through his entire being, and the sound of his name—spoken in pure surrender—shook him to his core.

He had never felt anything like this. Not just the physical connection, though that was consuming in its own right, but the raw intimacy of her trust, her vulnerability. She was utterly undone beneath him, and the knowledge that he had brought her there, that he had been the one to awaken this fire within her, filled him with an overwhelming sense of pride and possessiveness.

He slowed his movements for a moment, giving her body time to recover, brushing his lips against her temple as her breathing steadied. “You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, his breath hot against her skin. “So beautiful, Meya. You’ve no idea what you do to me.”

Her legs were still wrapped tightly around him, holding him in place, as if afraid to let him go. He kissed her again, slower this time, his lips soft and reverent against hers. Her taste lingered on his tongue, and he deepened the kiss, pouring into it all the emotion that words couldn’t convey.

As her body relaxed beneath him, her warmth still surrounding him, Aidan felt his own control beginning to fray. The tension he had held back, focusing solely on her pleasure, now surged to the forefront. His movements grew more deliberate, more urgent, each thrust pulling him closer to the edge. Her body responded to him instinctively, her hips rising to meet his, and the sound of her moaning his name again sent a jolt of heat straight through him.

“Meya,” he groaned, his voice low and strained, his forehead pressing against hers as he looked into her eyes. The sight of her—flushed, lips swollen from his kisses, eyes dark with passion—was almost too much. “You feel… gods, you feel perfect.”

Her hands slid up his back, her nails grazing his skin, and he shuddered at the sensation. His movements quickened, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he drove into her with everything he had. Each thrust brought him closer, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it became unbearable.

Aidan’s grip on her hips tightened as his rhythm faltered, and a deep, guttural sound tore from his throat as he buried himself fully within her. His climax hit him like a wave crashing over a cliff, his entire body tensing as white-hot pleasure consumed him. For a moment, the world around him disappeared, and there was only her—her touch, her scent, her presence grounding him as he shattered in her arms.

As the intensity ebbed, his body relaxed against hers, his forehead dropping to her shoulder. He held her close, his heart hammering against her chest as their breathing slowly synchronized. Aidan pressed a soft kiss to her collarbone, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re mine, Meya. Always.”​

 

[QuirkyQuill]

As her body shuddered against his, Meya knew that she would never know vulnerability of this caliber again. Aidan had managed to walk a path into her heart that she hadn't known existed, wrapping her in a blanket of safety so thoroughly that she'd not thought twice about conceding her body to his stewardship. Gasping for breath as he slowed his body, Meya’s eyes opened at the sound of his voice and her hands reached up, resting on his cheeks as she searched his eyes.

“You consume me,” she whispered, her body beginning to settle beneath him, his firm heat still buried inside her. As his lips descended upon hers, Meya’s mouth parted effortlessly to welcome him, her muscles uncoiling one by one as he brought her back down.

When his movements resumed, her body gripped him, and she felt a renewed fervor to touch him. Her eyes remained on him, watching his face slide into that aching need she’d felt moments before. She relished the way his muscles flexed with every drive he made into her, and she needed him to feel that same unabashed pleasure he’d given her. Then she felt his hands grip her hard, and she watched him breathlessly as his body shook against her, and she knew he’d toppled off his own mountain. She could feel his hot liquid inside her, the evidence of their intimacy joining together.

Her hands slid up to cradle the back of his hair as his forehead came to rest on her shoulder. Turning her face towards him, she nuzzled the side of his head with her nose. His hair was damp from his exertion, and her fingers moved back and forth through his dark strands. Tipping her face towards him, she planted a kiss on the side of his head.

“Always.”

Pulling him closer to her, Meya closed her eyes as she bit back an unexpected surge of sadness. Always. That word had no permanence in her life for anything good that came into her life. Aidan would be no different. Meya knew they were on borrowed time, and it was inevitable that the reality of two enemy nations ripped them into opposite directions. To that end, she thought, perhaps she’d been foolish and selfish to let him step inside her gilded cage. Her breathing faltered for a moment, but she forced her lungs to slow, not wanting to draw attention to the internal battle warring within her. This moment had been beautiful and unexpected, and Meya wasn't yet ready to let it be driven out by the challenges that awaited them once the sun had risen. Even if tomorrow brought nothing different, she knew this safety could not last.

“Whatever time I have with you is a gift, Aidan. One I never could have imagined.” Speaking quietly, her hands moved from his hair down to his back, following the trail of his spine as far as her arms could stretch before moving back up. Her eyes remained closed as she rested her cheek against his head, needing to memorize the feel of him while she could. In such little time of knowing him, he had pierced her soul with his openness and warmth.

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan lay still atop Meya, her words reverberating in his mind like the low toll of a distant bell. A gift. The tenderness in her voice, the way her hands moved along his back as if trying to memorize him, tugged at something deep within him - something he hadn’t dared to examine until now. He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her, the faint traces of sweat, lavender, and something uniquely hers that he already knew would haunt him.

The weight of her body beneath him, warm and pliant, felt grounding, as though she were anchoring him to the moment. Yet the edges of his thoughts were frayed with unease. He knew what this was. Borrowed time, as fragile as frost in the morning sun. The moment they left this room - this sanctuary - they would face the world again, a world that would never allow them to be together. Not without cost.

Aidan shifted slightly, brushing his lips against the curve of her shoulder before lifting his head to look at her. Her blue eyes - still heavy with the remnants of passion - searched his face, but there was something else there now, something shadowed and distant. He knew that look because he felt it mirrored in himself. Fear. Longing. Helplessness.

“Meya,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing the edge of her lips as though he were trying to hold onto this fleeting moment. “You say this is a gift, but it feels like a curse, too.” He paused, his brow furrowing as he searched for the words. “Because now that I’ve had this - had you - I don’t know how to let it go. I don’t want to.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and Aidan could feel the tension creeping back into her body, her muscles stiffening beneath him. He cursed himself silently. He hadn’t meant to burden her with his own turmoil, but the words had slipped out before he could stop them. He shifted onto his side, gathering her close so that her head rested against his chest. His fingers traced absent patterns along her spine as he stared at the ceiling, his mind racing.

“All my life,” he continued after a moment, his voice quieter now, “I’ve known my place, my duty. As Cathal’s son, as the prince, my choices were never mine to make. I was raised to serve the crown, to forge alliances, to defend our people - even if it meant sacrificing what I wanted. I thought I’d made peace with that.” He paused, his hand stilling on her back. “But then you came into my life, and suddenly, everything I thought I understood… it doesn’t matter anymore. None of it matters if it means losing you.”

He tilted his head down to look at her, his green eyes darkened with intensity. “But how can I ask you to stay? To risk everything? You owe me nothing, Meya. And yet, I can’t stop myself from wanting everything from you.”

The silence that followed felt heavy, laden with words unsaid. Aidan’s mind raced with possibilities, each one more impossible than the last. He could take her away, leave the palace, leave everything behind. But even as he considered it, he knew it wasn’t that simple. His duty was a chain he could not break, no matter how much he yearned to. And Meya… Meya deserved better than to be bound to him, a man caught between two worlds.

“I’m a fool,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. His hand moved to cradle the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. “A selfish fool, because even knowing all of this, I can’t let you go.”

The vulnerability in his own voice surprised him, and he closed his eyes, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. “Stay with me,” he whispered, the plea almost inaudible. “Just for tonight. Let me pretend, if only for a little while longer, that we have a choice.”

The words hung in the air, and Aidan felt his heart clench as he waited for her response. He knew, deep down, that no matter what she said, no matter how this night ended, the battle within him would rage on. The battle between duty and desire. Between the man he was expected to be and the man he longed to become - for her.​

 

[QuirkyQuill]

The very air shifted around them, and unlike the openness from before, it stifled her lungs. For all Aidan's words about moving forward and leading with his heart, Meya knew that he had tumbled into the chasm with her the moment they locked eyes. Swallowing thickly at the sound of her name, his tone carrying a different weight that unsettled her, she felt that candle inside her that he had helped reforge begin to topple.

Curse.

She'd been called many things in her lifetime, and none had ever quite stung the way his admission did. Meya knew he wasn't calling her a curse, but she internalized it as such. More proof that she was destined to hurt people at every turn. As he continued speaking, something inside her broke as she realized this sounded like a goodbye. As if Aidan knew as well as she did that she was not afforded a happily ever after. She didn't deserve anything close to happiness in this life. Not after the pain she had caused others. Not after the destruction she’d stood by and let others cause. Aidan had survived war and battle, and had managed to come out on the other side with his heart still intact. Meya had willingly sacrificed hers for the sake of her uncle's crown, knowing that by burying it so deeply she could never follow in her mother's footsteps.

Her thoughts had spiraled, her body going rigid, but when he rolled from her and pulled her in, she closed her eyes. Curling into him, she took an intentional, slow breath in an effort to keep herself under control.

Aidan made her feel safe, and Meya had learned in the last month that there was no greater feeling than someone making her feel safe. It wasn't just her physical safety but Aidan had made every little crevice of her feel protected around him, a feat that still surpassed her understanding. She didn't want to give that up either. The very idea of it made her chest seize up and breathing became impossible.

Though she remained against him, her eyes stared almost blankly at his chest. She couldn't meet his gaze. To do so would eliminate the barrier she was trying to feverishly rebuild around her feelings. If he was feeling hopeless about their situation, the man who had been so determined with his ambitious ideas of overcoming expectations, Meya knew she had to, at the very least, pretend to be that reminder for him. Even if she knew it was fruitless for herself.

“Aidan,” she finally spoke, her voice tinged with a faint trace of sadness, “I believe you have the power to have all the things in this life that you want. Being bound by duty does not preclude you from finding happiness.” She did tilt her head back at this and she met his gaze, forcing down every fear and unease she felt so he was met with her assurance. Reaching up, she laid her hand against his cheek, her thumb rubbing against his stubble. “I have to believe that this world has joy to give you because you are too good a soul to be denied that. Not in this lifetime.”

“Let me pretend, if only for a little while longer, that we have a choice.”

A small, sad smile appeared on her face at his words, and deep within her she felt the candle blow out entirely. He’d given up. Meya felt almost ashamed that she'd caused him grief. When her sleeplessness had brought her to his door earlier, she’d known the threshold she was crossing. What she hadn't anticipated was how much this night would change the very makeup of her heart, and how vividly her heart would break when sunlight would push her back into the shadows. Aidan wasn't meant to live in the dark. Meya had been surrounded by it and raised in it so that she could scarcely fathom life in the light. It was blinding.

“I'm here,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his middle. “I'm here. Go to sleep.”

Meya lay still beside him, not moving as her thoughts cascaded through her. If she stayed, she put him in danger, not just physically, but he looked so distraught when he’d spoken. Sleep never came for her, but she felt the moment his muscles relaxed and smiled as Aidan's breathing deepened. Once he was asleep, she looked up, memorizing his sleeping form. The peace on his face cradled her heart, and she stayed by him until the sky outside began to lighten to a dark grey.

Sliding carefully out of his bed, she found her chemise and slid it back on. With one last look at his sleeping form, Meya stepped through the door adjoining their quarters, quietly closing the door behind her. Ringing for Hildy, she paced in front of her cold fireplace until the older woman arrived.

“You are up early m’lady,” she said, her eyes looking around and landing on Meya’s made bed. Her dark eyes shifted to Meya, scrutinizing the young woman and her tousled hair. “Or perhaps, up late.”

There was no judgement in the woman's tone.

“I need a horse ready to leave as quickly as possible.” Meya kept her voice quiet, but decisive as she spoke. Hildy considered her for a moment, her eyes staring so intently at Meya she felt as though the woman was staring right through her.

“Of course.” She spoke and moved towards the wardrobe, opening it and beginning to pull out warm riding clothes. “Does the lady intend to return or should I prepare for a long journey?”

Hildy motioned towards the changing area, and Meya obediently stood where she was supposed to, working with Hildy to dress expediently. Letting out a long exhale as the heavy dress fell against her skin, she considered the question carefully before answering.

“The lady has not yet decided what's in the best interest of the Crown Prince of Gaelica.” It was as truthful an answer as she could muster, although part of her words felt dishonest. “Or rather, the lady has not yet decided if she's strong enough to do what is in his best interest.”

“Hm.” Hildy made that sound she always made when she disapproved of something Meya said or did. It was a sound she had become rather fond of over the last month. Meya settled in the seat before the mirror so Hildy could braid her hair. There was no discussion nor any attempt on Hildy's behalf to do anything other than pull Meya’s hair back in her traditional braid.

“Hildy.” Meya said her name, carrying an entire conversation in one word.

“I said nothing, m’lady. I am just curious if His Highness decided what was in his best interest.”

“My presence is a danger to him.” Her voice was small when she he spoke, feeling the truth wrap around her like a noose ready to string her up.

“I believe the prince is able to protect himself quite effectively.” Finishing the braid, Hildy stepped backwards. “I will ensure a horse is ready for you soon, and supplies for either a short or long trip. Although I find it dangerous for a woman to be out and about unchaperoned.”

Not long after, Meya found herself down by the stables, the sky not quite brightened by the sun. Her breath puffed out in front of her, and she was grateful for the heavy cloak Hildy had secured for her. Reaching a gloved hand up, Meya ran her hand down the horse’s neck, acquainting the animal with her touch.

“What should I tell the prince if he asks for your whereabouts?” Hildy's eyebrow rose in inquiry.

“Tell him…” Meya had to think. Looking around, her eyes fell on several guards standing nearby, suspicion on the face of three of them, that familiar look of hatred on the fourth. “Tell him that no matter what happens, I need him to make a vow. Not a promise, a vow, that he will never lose sight of finding joy in his life. That he will remain open to the possibility that he can have everything he wants.”

Hildy continued to look at her as though she was at war with herself, trapped between speaking her mind or yielding to propriety. Swallowing, Meya did a quick check of the bag attached to the horse’s saddle, more for something to do than because she needed to. Her eyes moved back to the guards, and the one who's disdain splayed so openly on his face rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. Hildy followed her stare and pursed her lips before turning back to Meya.

“Gunnar. His family was killed in an attack by the South Seas during the summer.” Offering up an explanation, Hildy's face tensed. “His mother, father, and two younger brothers were all killed.”

“He wants me dead.” Speaking pointedly, Meya patted the horse one more time before turning back to Hildy. “Thank you, Hildy. For everything. If I do not return, I just want you to know that I am grateful to you.”

Hildy merely nodded as she watched Meya mount the horse. Meya pulled the cloak up over her head, grateful for the warmth it brought to her ears and urged the horse forward. Once she'd left the area, Hildy's attention was drawn to the young men, watching Gunnar speaking quietly to his comrades. They all nodded, and Gunnar stepped towards the stables, disappearing inside for several moments. Hildy's eyebrows furrowed, and though she began walking towards the palace, she watched carefully. On cue, Gunnar rode out, a determined look on his face as he followed the same path Meya had taken minutes before.

A knot formed inside the older woman's stomach, and she moved swiftly towards the prince’s chambers. This did not settle well with her, and as Meya had not sworn her to secrecy, she was under no obligation to keep her departure, or that of Gunnar's, to herself.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

The frigid air had ensured that Meya was wide awake, despite the lack of sleep from the previous night. She'd ridden deliberately out of the East gate, needing time to shift through her thoughts. Her memory frequently sought refuge in their night together, remembering the way his lips had brought every inch of her body alive. The way his words had aroused her just as intensely as his fingers moving against her with a tenderness she thought imaginary.

Meya knew she needed to disappear. Aidan stood a better chance of finding true, sustainable happiness if she were gone. It wouldn't feel that way at first, she knew, but Meya has no doubt that time would quickly erase her face from him, replaced by a lady more suited to a prince’s wife. She had to believe he was fated to find a match that would make him happy and lift him up the way he needed. Someone who would encourage him to reach for his vision of the kingdom. A woman who would take his breath away and, in turn, leave her in awe of him. Meya knew that woman had to exist for him. But she knew it wasn't her. It couldn't be her. She was the daughter of an enemy nation that would come calling for her.

The frost crunched under the horse’s hooves as she followed the now familiar path. She'd been riding for some time, and finally drew up in front of the lake with the island. Dismounting, she wrapped her arms around herself as she walked towards the water’s edge and stared out. Aidan had said this was his favorite place, and she could envision a child version of him running around, pretending to be a captain on the high seas. At least, that's what she would have done. She could almost imagine him paddling out to the island in a little wooden boat, that smile wide on his face that he now kept so tightly packed away from the world.

Meya had no sense of time for how long she stood there, nor had she been as in tune with her surroundings as she normally would have been. She had been so lost in thought that she failed to notice she was no longer alone until she heard the familiar snick of a blade being unsheathed.

Turning slowly, she saw the guard standing behind her, his eyes filled with the same murderous intent he always carried around her. Her posture remained the same, her arms hugging herself, the rest of her relaxed as though she were unconcerned.

“Finally going to attempt to kill me?” The warm, open Meya that had laughed beside a fire with Aidan was nowhere to be found. This Meya's blue eyes were steely, unfeeling, assessing. Her tone had an edge of mocking to it as she looked unimpressed by the guard’s show of weapon, despite her unarmed status.

“I have every intention of cutting you limb for limb,” he said through gritted teeth. “When I’m through with you, nobody will be able to find you.”

Meya stared at him for a moment, a look of empathy passing over her features briefly. He had every reason in the world to want her dead. He was an angry man, barely old enough to be out of boyhood. She understood his need for vengeance. For a brief moment, Meya wondered if it would be wise to let him succeed. She knew she could not return to serving the South Seas crown as she once had,and staying here was too dangerous for Aidan. Her only other choice was to disappear, perhaps cross a border into some other land. Or, she mused, I could atone for the sins of my country and let him win the blood he seeks.

Her survival instincts would never allow it, regardless of how much she understood this man’s motives. She did unfurl her arms at this, and brought them down by her side.

“Well, then, proceed.”

 

[Mr_Positive]

Prince Aidan stirred from sleep as the first pale light of dawn filtered into his chamber. The bed was cold beside him. He blinked slowly, his mind sluggish, still heavy with the haze of sleep. The emptiness beside him confirmed what he already knew deep within: Meya was gone. He sat up abruptly, pushing the remnants of blankets aside, and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. His chest tightened, a strange ache blooming there, and for a moment, he simply sat still, staring at the door she must have slipped through in the early hours.

She had always been a quiet one, her movements deliberate and cautious, as though she had trained herself to leave no trace, to be nothing more than a ghost. Aidan hated how well she had perfected that skill.

The air in the room was still, and for a long moment, he allowed himself to sit in the silence. The night before lingered in his mind—her closeness, the way her voice softened as she spoke of him deserving joy, the warmth of her touch against his cheek. It was unlike anything he had ever known. In Meya's presence, the weight of his title, his responsibilities, and the endless expectations placed upon him seemed to lighten, if only for a while. She made him feel like a man, not just a prince bound to the throne. Yet, even in her warmth, he could sense the shadow of her doubts, the way her words carried more finality than hope. Last night, she had been saying goodbye.

Aidan stood and moved to the window, staring out at the awakening kingdom. The distant hills were bathed in soft hues of pink and orange, the sky heralding another winter’s day. A frost had settled over the land, its crystalline patterns glinting in the faint light. Somewhere out there, she was riding away, slipping further from his reach. She thought leaving would protect him, shield him from the dangers she believed she carried. He clenched his fists at the thought. She didn’t understand. She couldn’t see how wrong she was. He didn’t need her to protect him—he needed her to stay.

The sound of hurried footsteps outside his chamber door broke his reverie. He turned just as the door opened, revealing Hildy, her expression grave. She inclined her head respectfully, though there was urgency in her movements.

“My lord,” she began, her voice steady despite the storm Aidan could see in her eyes. “The lady Meya has departed.”

Aidan exhaled sharply, though he hadn’t truly expected otherwise. “When?”

“Before dawn,” Hildy replied. “She took a horse from the stables and left without a guard. Gunnar followed her shortly after.”

The mention of Gunnar, the young guard whose eyes had always burned with resentment when they landed on Meya, sent a chill through Aidan. He knew of Gunnar’s loss, the pain that drove his hatred for anything tied to the South Seas. It was an all-too-familiar story—one that had repeated itself countless times in the years of conflict between their lands. But Gunnar was impulsive, driven by emotion more than reason. Aidan didn’t trust what the boy might do if left unchecked.

“Which direction?” Aidan demanded, already moving toward the door.

“East,” Hildy said. “Toward the lake.”

Aidan nodded sharply and strode out of the room, his heart pounding in his chest. He had no time to dress formally or gather a retinue. Meya was alone, unprotected, and Gunnar was dangerously close behind her. He couldn’t let this end in bloodshed—not hers, and not Gunnar’s.

The ride to the lake was grueling, the cold biting at his skin despite the thick cloak he wore. Aidan pushed his horse hard, urging the animal to cover the distance as quickly as possible. His mind raced with every passing moment, the image of Meya standing alone by the water haunting him. She always sought solitude when her thoughts grew too heavy, retreating to quiet places where she could disappear into herself. He knew her well enough to guess where she had gone, but the thought brought little comfort.

When he reached the clearing, his heart sank. Meya stood near the water’s edge, her back to him, her figure cloaked in darkness despite the rising sun. She was still, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if bracing against the cold—or against something deeper. But she was not alone. Gunnar was there, his sword drawn, the tension between them crackling like a storm about to break.

Aidan dismounted swiftly, his boots crunching against the frost as he approached. He didn’t call out, didn’t waste time with words that might tip the fragile balance of the scene before him. Gunnar turned at the sound of his approach, his expression twisting in anger and defiance.

“Your Highness,” Gunnar spat, though there was no respect in the title. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should you,” Aidan said coldly, his voice steady but sharp as steel. He moved closer, his gaze fixed on Gunnar’s blade. “Put it down.”

“She’s a traitor!” Gunnar’s voice cracked with fury, his knuckles white as he gripped his weapon. “Her people killed my family—my brothers! She doesn’t deserve your protection.”

“And you think killing her will bring them back?” Aidan’s tone cut through the frosty air, his words striking like a blow. He stepped between Gunnar and Meya, his presence commanding, unyielding. “You dishonor their memory by letting hatred consume you.”

Gunnar hesitated, the weight of Aidan’s words pressing against him, but his resolve didn’t waver entirely. “She’s dangerous,” he muttered, though his voice faltered. “You can’t trust her.”

“I trust her with my life,” Aidan said firmly, his voice rising with conviction. “And if you harm her, you will answer to me.”

The finality of his words hung in the air, leaving no room for argument. Gunnar’s grip on his sword loosened, the fight draining from him as he looked away, his expression clouded with shame and frustration. Slowly, he lowered his weapon, sheathing it with a begrudging sigh.

“Go back to the castle,” Aidan ordered, his tone brooking no refusal. “I’ll deal with this.”

Gunnar hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering between Aidan and Meya. Then, with a stiff nod, he turned and mounted his horse, riding away without another word.

The silence that followed was deafening. Aidan turned to Meya, his breath visible in the cold air as he tried to steady himself. She stood motionless, her face unreadable, though her eyes betrayed a storm of emotions—fear, sadness, resignation.

“You were going to leave without saying anything,” Aidan said, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “Did you think I wouldn’t come after you?”

Meya’s silence cut deeper than any words could have. She looked away, her gaze falling to the frost-covered ground as if she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. Aidan took a step closer, his heart aching at the distance she was trying to create between them.

“You think this is for my sake,” he said, his voice softening, though the pain in it was unmistakable. “That by leaving, you’re protecting me. But don’t you see? You’re all I’ve fought for. All I’ve wanted. You’ve given me something I didn’t think I could ever have—a glimpse of the life I’ve dreamed of. And now you want to take that away?”

He paused, his breath hitching as he searched for the right words. “I won’t pretend I can change your mind in an instant. I know you’re doing what you think is best. But before you go, stay one more day. That’s all I ask. Stay and meet someone who can show you why you don’t have to leave. Why you shouldn’t.”

He didn’t explain further, didn’t tell her that he was thinking of her father, the man who might have answers, who might finally convince her that her place was here, with him. Aidan only held her gaze, his own eyes filled with a mix of desperation and hope.

“Stay,” he repeated, his voice breaking slightly. “Just one more day.”​

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Though Meya's posture remained the same, her stance hidden by her cloak, her feet were at hip’s length, her knees slightly bent, her feet nimble and ready to move. Gunnar's eyes narrowed as though he had not gotten the response he had wanted. What had he expected of her? To beg or cry, falling to her knees with her hands clasped together in some dramatic outcry? Or had he expected her to try to run? Judging by the anger on his face, and the way his lip twitched ever so slightly, Meya had a feeling she was not demonstrating enough fear for his liking. She’d known many men like that. Ronin was that man. He liked his adversaries to express their fear, and he made a game out of soliciting that fear from other people. Meya did not think Gunnar was made of that ilk. He was just an angry young man who wanted desperately to take vengeance into his own hands. He was the kind of soldier that would quickly be dismissed dishonorably from the South Seas army if he could not quickly learn to control it.

Aidan’s voice cut through the moment, and though her eyes remained locked on the man before her, her pulse quickened at the sound of his voice. How’d he gotten here was a mystery she had no doubt would be solved in due time, but his presence baffled her. Meya almost interjected on behalf of allowing the young man to try, but she remained silent. This was a discussion between a guard and the crown he served, and she respected that too much to interrupt, especially knowing that Aidan would not like her stance on the matter.

“She’s a traitor!”

The irony of those words nearly elicited a chuckle from her, but she was too well-trained to allow it to surface. She had, in fact, become a traitor to the South Seas last night the moment she’d allowed that kiss between her and Aidan to happen. After all, Meya could not be a traitor to a crown to which she’d never sworn allegiance. Pointing that out to the emotional guard would hardly be helpful, though, so kept her sardonic thoughts to herself.

Aidan’s large frame came into focus when he placed himself between her and Gunnar, and for the first time, she allowed her gaze to shift to him. He’d clearly dressed in a hurry this morning, and Meya could see the tension in his shoulders and the stiffness in his neck.

“I trust her with my life.”

Those words slammed into her with the force of a thousand winds, and she felt her throat tighten. Twice he had stood up so resolutely on her behalf in a pivotal moment, and it terrified her. She wanted to scream that he shouldn’t trust her. Meya knew that entrusting her with his life was the easy part. It was easy to physically protect somebody. It was trusting her with all the rest of him that she was afraid of. She would, inevitably, fail him. Swallowing thickly as Gunnar finally relented at the beckoning of his prince, Meya’s tension shifted to a different kind.

When Aidan turned to her, her eyes lifted, and she could see the pain in them. The pain she had caused. Her decision had not been decided when she’d said as much to Hildy, but the further from the castle she’d ridden, the more transparent it had become that she would forever be an albatross to him if she stayed. The accusation that came in his words, accusation without anger, filled her with shame, and she looked away. He was right. If she had decided to leave for good, she would have left without a word. Meya would have had to. There would have been no parting goodbyes between the two of them, and she knew she would be in danger of changing her mind if she gave him the chance to convince her otherwise.

“And now you want to take that away?”

She physically ached from his words, and the ground her blue eyes had been so intently focused on blurred beneath tears. When she looked back at him, her eyes were red rimmed, and she lacked the strength to hold back the droplets that spilled down her cheeks.

“Aiden,” she choked his name out in a whisper, shaking her head, “That’s not fair.” Shaking her head, she bit her bottom lip for a moment, her shoulders dropping from the defiant stance she’d been in since Gunnar’s approach. Now, standing beside the lake, the wind pulling at her cloak, she looked small. Sniffling, she reached up and rubbed her hands over her face in an effort to try to hold herself together. Lowering her hands to her side, fresh tears replaced the ones she’d just wiped away.

“I…I had not decided what I was going to do. I needed to think clearly, and I couldn’t do that in the castle.” Turning her head to the side, her eyes moved along the edge of the lake, looking everywhere but at him. “I needed to be near you without being…near you.”

“You have opened me up in ways I could never fathom. Last night was…” she paused, searching for a word that felt big enough for what last night was, but continued when she couldn’t quite find the right one, “life-changing. You have shown me more in the month we’ve known each other about what this life could be than I could have learned in a lifetime without you. But, we do not just have disapproving mothers to contend with here. This is life or death, Aidan, and I will not be responsible for putting you in danger because for the first time in my life I want to be selfish.” Her gaze shifted back to him at her last statement. Tears still streamed down her face, a highly unusual show of emotion for Meya, and she felt her chest tighten. “I can’t be responsible for anything bad happening to you. I’m not strong enough.”

 

[Mr_Positive]

Prince Aidan stood in the cold, his breath forming faint clouds in the air as Meya’s tearful words lingered between them. He watched her face, etched with raw emotion, and the sight tore at him in ways he hadn’t known were possible. Meya, who was so often composed, unshakable, even defiant, now looked as fragile as glass in the pale light of dawn. The weight of her pain pressed against his chest like a physical force, and for a moment, he could do nothing but stare, his heart aching with every tear that fell from her eyes.

Her words replayed in his mind, their meaning slicing through him like a blade. She thought she wasn’t strong enough. That she wasn’t worthy of standing beside him. That her presence in his life was a danger rather than a blessing. But she didn’t understand. She didn’t see the truth as he did. He wasn’t trying to protect her—he was trying to save himself from a life of emptiness, from a future where she didn’t exist.

Aidan took a deep breath, forcing himself to steady the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He stepped closer, his boots crunching softly against the frost-covered ground, and for a moment, he simply stood there, looking at her. Her head was turned, her gaze fixed on the lake, as though she couldn’t bear to face him. But he wouldn’t let her retreat into herself—not this time.

“Meya,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, the soft authority of a man who would not be ignored. He needed her to hear him, to understand the depth of what he was about to say. “You think you’re protecting me by leaving. That by walking away, you’re keeping me safe. But you’re wrong.”

The words came out steadier than he expected, but the truth of them burned in his throat. His hands, trembling slightly, clenched at his sides. “Do you know what would truly destroy me?” he continued, his voice gaining strength as he spoke. “Losing you. Not because of danger, not because of some threat we could face together—but because you decided I wasn’t worth the risk.”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “You keep saying that you’re not strong enough, that you don’t want to be selfish. But strength isn’t about pretending you’re invulnerable or trying to shield yourself from the world. And it’s not about running away when things get hard. Strength is standing by the people you care about, even when it scares you. Even when it feels impossible.”

The wind picked up, rustling the bare branches of the trees around them, but Aidan didn’t move. His gaze remained fixed on her, willing her to turn back to him. “You’re not responsible for what happens to me,” he said, his voice softening but losing none of its intensity. “That’s not how this works. If I’m in danger, it’s because I’ve chosen this life—because I’ve chosen you. And I’ll keep choosing you, no matter how many times you try to tell me I shouldn’t.”

He could feel the rawness in his voice, the emotion he usually kept buried rising to the surface. For so long, he had been taught to keep his feelings in check, to project an air of calm authority, but with Meya, there was no use in pretending. She had seen through every mask he wore, stripped him down to his core, and shown him a version of himself he hadn’t known existed. How could he let her walk away now, after all they had shared? After everything she had come to mean to him?

Aidan’s hands unclenched as he took another step closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as though approaching a wounded animal. She was strong—he knew that—but right now, she was also vulnerable. He didn’t want to startle her, to push her further away. He just wanted her to see that he wasn’t afraid of the risks she so feared.

“I don’t care about the danger,” he said, his voice a low, steady murmur. “I don’t care about what people think or what traditions say we’re supposed to do. None of that matters to me if you’re not here. Don’t you see, Meya? You’re not a burden. You’re not an albatross. You’re everything.”

His throat tightened, and for a moment, he had to pause, the weight of his own words catching him off guard. He hadn’t planned to bare his soul like this, but he couldn’t hold back anymore. Not when she was so close to slipping away.

“I won’t pretend I can make this easy,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “I know the road ahead won’t be simple. But I also know that I’d rather face every challenge, every danger, every moment of uncertainty with you than live a safe, empty life without you. You’ve already changed me, Meya. I’m not the same man I was before I met you. And I don’t want to go back to being that man.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken emotions. Aidan watched her carefully, searching for any sign that his words were reaching her. The rising sun cast a golden glow over the lake, the frost on the ground sparkling like tiny diamonds, and for a brief moment, the world felt still, as though holding its breath.

Finally, Aidan let out a slow breath, the tension in his chest easing just slightly. He reached up, running a hand through his dark hair, his mind racing as he considered his next words. He had to convince her to stay, to give them one more chance. And he knew there was only one way to do that.

“Stay,” he said simply, his voice carrying a quiet urgency. “Just one more day. That’s all I’m asking. One day to show you that you don’t have to run. That you don’t have to do this alone.”

He hesitated, his eyes searching hers, though her expression remained guarded. “There’s someone I want you to meet,” he continued, his tone softening. “Someone who might help you see that staying isn’t the wrong choice. That this… we… could be worth fighting for.”

He didn’t tell her who he meant—didn’t reveal that he was thinking of her father, the man who might hold the key to unraveling the fears that kept her bound. Aidan wasn’t even sure if the meeting would change anything, but he had to try. For her. For them.

“Please,” he added, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Just one day. That’s all I’m asking.”​

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Meya’s lungs had constricted so tightly the world began to spin from lack of air. Mentally reminding herself to breathe, she inhaled slowly in an attempt to settle herself. Talking about feelings was so far outside her realm that even the act of speaking those few words about them made her body react as vehemently as if she'd jumped into the freezing lake. Jumping into the lake would have been preferable to her at this moment, despite her deep seeded fear of drowning.

Almost as if he knew she was attempting to bury herself back into that invisible cage, he said her name, cutting through the whirlwind of thoughts that threatened to push her off the side of the cliff. She turned her head to look at him, her blue eyes a storm of agony as she battled between her head and her heart.

“—but because you decided I wasn’t worth the risk.”

She winced at his words, her stomach tightening at the accusation. Dropping her eyes to the brown grass below her, she bit the inside of her cheek as a lone tear dropped to the ground. Her fingers tightened around her arms, her knuckles turning even whiter against her pale skin. This whole circumstance had happened so quickly with him and Meya still had not been able to quite process the last month. Right now, she knew her life would have been so much simpler if she’d obeyed Ronin's orders and abandoned the rest of the men that had been foisted upon them. Aidan would have remained a faceless enemy, someone who was known to her only by a title.

Instead, she knew the way his green eyes darkened when he was in deep thought. She'd memorized the way he held the stem of his glass as he spoke about his dreams for the future of his kingdom. The sound of his laugh, as rare as her own, had embedded itself into the depths of her heart. After last night, she also had first hand knowledge of the way his lips trailing across her skin lit her on fire; how the heat of his body against hers seeped into the very center of who she was. Or who she could be. Who she was scared to be.

“And I’ll keep choosing you, no matter how many times you try to tell me I shouldn’t.”

Her eyes remained downcast, and her body tensed up briefly when she saw his feet step into her vision, but her muscles almost immediately settled again. Swallowing thickly, she closed her eyes against the bitter wind that stung against her face as she tried desperately to make sense of everything. This entire situation was overwhelming to her. War she could handle. Battle she could handle. Slinking in a forbidden area with nary a sight or sound, easy. Standing before the man who had somehow peeled back her raw, uninhibited self was terrifying beyond reason.

Not beyond reason.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the sounds of nature coming to life around them. Lifting her gaze to his, she still looked small, her pale skin looking wan in the daylight. The weight of the situation and a night without sleep had finally caught up to her. Furrowing her brow, she lifted her eyes to the sky as if looking for some form of divine intervention to explain why the very idea of allowing herself to embrace this made her physically ache. Letting out a slow breath, she returned her gaze to his face.

“The only two people I have ever seen who genuinely loved each other were my mother and father. Every other marital relationship I have seen has been a political transaction. I know that that’s not even what we’re talking about here, but,” she paused, “I watched my mother give up on life because she lost my father. They loved each other so much that when we lost him, she was shattered beyond repair, and nothing in this life was worth fighting to stay alive.” Swallowing a lump in her throat, she slid her arms down and clasped her hands in front of her. Her eyes dropped down to her fingers clutching onto herself. “Not even me.”

That was a truth she’d never spoken aloud. Meya had been barely fourteen when her father had died, which now seemed like a lifetime ago. Less than a year later, her mother had succumbed to illness after refusing to care for herself. Meya had watched her mother lose the will to live because of a lost love.

“I was so willing to let them bury my feelings and emotions because I saw what could happen when you didn’t.” Absentmindedly, Meya dug her toe in the hardened ground. “It’s been years since all of that happened, but I promised myself that I would never be like her in that regard. That I would never allow myself to care about anybody so much that I could no longer find the will to carry on in this life if I lost them. This scares me because it is very evident that you could be that person, Aidan. And I am not strong enough to handle losing you to war and battle, especially if I were the cause of that loss. If I already feel that way, I cannot even begin to fathom what this would feel like given more time.”

Meya’s instincts were telling her to flee. Not just to leave, but to flee. Aidan was a danger to her unlike any she’d ever encountered, and it was because he would never hurt her. His tenderness and openness was a comfort that went beyond words. Always so physically guarded, Meya had never allowed herself to be so vulnerable and at ease with anybody else. That level of trust was destructive because she knew that this life would never let her keep it.

“Stay.”

That one word stabbed at her heart with the precision of a freshly sharpened blade. Unclasping her hands, she wrapped one arm around her middle as the other reached up and rubbed her neck. Her fingers had grown icy during the time outside, and though they had long gone numb, the feel of them against her neck shocked her system. If he’d told her it was her decision, and he’d support it either way, she could have walked away. Meya could have gotten on the back of the horse, and ridden back to the gates of the South Seas, determined to choose a path that would forever keep her from stepping foot back in Gaelica.

But he hadn’t. He was outright asking her to stay, and Meya did not possess the resolve to deny him what he wanted. Closing her eyes, she nodded slowly, her body tense and rigid. It wouldn’t just be one day, though, and she knew it. If there was enough courage in her to leave him for good, it would have been now, and that courage had waned the moment she’d heard his voice when he’d approached them.

“Who?” Her eyes remained transfixed on the ground, but she posed the question quietly, her fingers rubbing against her collar bone out of the need to move.

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan stared at her, his chest tightening at the sight of her trembling frame. The icy wind seemed to tear through both of them, though it wasn’t the cold that left him feeling hollow. It was the fear in her voice, the deep ache of her confession, and the heavy weight of the pain she carried so tightly within herself.

Meya’s whispered “Who?” was a fragile thread, binding her to him in that moment. She couldn’t look at him, her gaze cast downward as if the earth might offer her the strength she couldn’t summon herself. But Aidan didn’t need her to look at him. He needed her to hear him, to feel the steadiness of his resolve, to know that she wasn’t alone in the storm of emotions that threatened to pull her under.

He stepped closer, his boots crunching softly against the frost-covered grass. Carefully, as though she might shatter beneath his touch, he placed a hand on her shoulder. When she didn’t recoil, he let it linger, his thumb brushing gently over the rough fabric of her cloak.

“Meya,” he said softly, his voice steady but low, meant only for her. “I know this is overwhelming. I know you’re trying to protect yourself, protect me. But you don’t have to do this alone.”

She stiffened slightly under his hand but didn’t pull away. Encouraged, Aidan moved closer, his other hand lifting to gently cup her cheek. His touch was warm against the chill of her skin, his thumb brushing away a tear that had frozen halfway down her cheek.

“You asked me who,” he murmured. “And I will tell you, but you need to trust me for a little longer. This person—” He hesitated, his green eyes locking onto hers as he crouched slightly, bringing himself level with her. “This person cannot be revealed yet. Not to you, not to anyone, until the time is right. Believe me when I say it is for your safety as much as anyone’s.”

Her lips parted as though to protest, but Aidan shook his head, his thumb brushing along her cheek again. “I’m asking you to trust me. Please. Just as I trust you.” He offered a faint smile, the edges of his mouth lifting in reassurance. “And I do trust you, Meya. With my life, my future, all of it.”

She blinked, and he saw the conflict warring in her stormy blue eyes. The need to run. The desire to believe. The fear of hope. He could see all of it as if her soul had laid itself bare before him. It was raw and beautiful and fragile, and Aidan’s heart ached at the thought that she had carried this weight for so long, all alone.

Slowly, Aidan pulled her into an embrace, his arms wrapping around her carefully, giving her plenty of space to pull away if she wanted to. But she didn’t. He felt her tension melt away by fractions, her rigid frame softening ever so slightly against his chest. The top of her head rested just below his chin, and he let himself breathe deeply, grounding himself in her presence.

“You’re not alone anymore,” he whispered, his voice barely audible against the wind. His hand moved to the back of her head, his fingers threading gently through her hair, the motion slow and comforting. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together. You’re not going to lose me. Not to war, not to politics, not to anything.”

His words hung between them, a promise as unshakable as the ground they stood on. For a long moment, Aidan simply held her, letting the silence stretch into something soothing. The world around them seemed to blur, leaving only the sound of their breathing and the faint rustle of leaves.

Finally, he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes again. “Stay,” he said, his voice firm but kind. “Not because I’m asking you to. But because you want to. Because you know that whatever you’re afraid of, it doesn’t have to be faced alone.”

He rested his forehead gently against hers, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Trust me, Meya. Just this once.”​

 

[QuirkyQuill]

It took every bit of self-control not to fall into him when she felt the weight of his hand on her shoulder. She wanted to be one of those women for the first time in her life and just allow herself to let someone else carry her burden, but it went against her nature and everything she’d been taught in the years since her father's death. Never let anyone see your weakness. Emotions are a weakness. Trust nobody. You are responsible for yourself, nobody else will rescue you.

Her posture tightened and her jaw clenched as she fought to keep herself composed. The blood pumped through her veins, the loud thumping of her heart pulsing in her temple, and then he softened the world around her by taking her cheek. Her head leaned instinctively into his touch, her eyes closing as she allowed that comfort to weave its way down her body. Aidan’s presence drove out the narrative that had begun to silently chide her.

When his body shifted, she opened her eyes to his as he spoke. Gnawing on the inside of her lip, a sense of foreboding settled in the pit of her stomach, but she merely nodded. Secrecy was a world in which she had existed for a long time, so she was certainly no stranger to it. Experience had taught Meya that when a man was leading her to a place shrouded in mystery, it would result in her being tested, and it was never good for her.

Then Aidan reminded her that he was different from any other man she'd ever known. As his arms wrapped around her, encompassing her in his strength and gentleness, Meya dissolved into his warmth. Her hands came to rest on his chest as she buried her face into his tunic, her eyes closing as his presence built a wall around the two of them. The soft tone of his voice and the feel of his hands against her hair quickly pushed her remaining resolve away, and she suddenly felt extremely tired. She wanted to believe his promises, but Meya knew he was promising her things that were outside his control. Nobody could stop a well-aimed blade forever. Pushing her doubts aside, she chose to focus instead on the cadence of his heart against her ear and the sturdy rise and fall of his chest.

She could have fallen asleep standing, her body resting against his, had she not felt him change his position. Tilting her head back, she opened her eyes to find him looking at her.

“Stay.”

That word coiled around her with the same strength of purpose as the first time he’d said it to her. It wasn't an order, she knew, but a plea. Meya reached her hand up, resting her icy fingers against his rough cheek as his forehead rested against hers.

“I do trust you, Aidan.” Finally speaking, her eyes closed as she gathered her thoughts. “That's what makes this so scary.” The confession fell from her lips as a shiver ran through her body. When she'd been riding, she had grown numb to the cold, but now with Aiden's heat against her, it made the coldness around them more noticeable.

“But I will stay.” Looking back to him, her eyes were brimming with conflict, but her determination was evident in the way her jaw set.

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan held her gaze for a moment longer, her words reverberating in his mind. I do trust you. That’s what makes this so scary. They cut through him like a blade, and yet there was a tenderness to them, a willingness to take the leap despite her fears. It was all he could ask of her—for now. He gave a small nod, his forehead brushing lightly against hers before he stepped back, his hands lingering on her arms to steady her.

“Then we’ll face this together,” he said softly, his voice resolute. His hands dropped to his sides, though he couldn’t help but feel the absence of her warmth. “Come on. Let’s get back to the castle before we both freeze to death.”

Without waiting for her reply, Aidan turned toward the horses, his strides purposeful but measured. He glanced back to ensure she was following, and when she did, her steps slow but steady, relief washed over him. He mounted his horse and waited until she was securely on hers before nudging his steed forward. The journey back to the castle capital was a quiet one, the rhythmic crunch of hooves against the frosted earth the only sound between them. Aidan stole glances at her from time to time, her face turned toward the horizon, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. He didn’t press her—she needed the silence, and he would give it to her.

As they approached the capital gates, the familiar sight of the castle rising above the bustling city greeted them. Aidan straightened in the saddle, his shoulders squaring as if bracing for what was to come. He guided them through the cobblestone streets, nodding occasionally to townsfolk who stopped to bow or wave. Meya remained quiet, her hood drawn low to shield her face from curious eyes.

When they reached the castle stables, Aidan dismounted first, handing the reins to a waiting stable hand. He moved to Meya’s side, offering his hand to help her down. She hesitated for a heartbeat before accepting, her fingers cold against his palm. Once she was on the ground, he let her hand go reluctantly and gestured toward the narrow path leading away from the castle.

“This way,” he said, his tone softer now. She followed without a word, her steps measured and careful. They walked in silence, the castle looming behind them as they made their way to the outskirts of the capital. Aidan’s heart thudded heavily in his chest as they approached the small stone cottage nestled near the edge of the forest. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, and the faint scent of woodfire lingered in the air.

Stopping a few paces from the door, Aidan turned to Meya. His green eyes softened as he studied her face, his expression a mixture of regret and determination. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, his thumb brushing over the fabric of her cloak. “The person I want you to meet is inside,” he said quietly. “He’s waiting for you.”

Her gaze flickered toward the door, and for a moment, he thought she might refuse. But she didn’t. Instead, she gave a slight nod, her features unreadable. Aidan squeezed her shoulder lightly, then stepped back, giving her the space she needed.

“I’ll return to the castle,” he added. “Take the time you need with him. I’ll handle everything else.” He waited a moment longer, as if silently willing her to understand that she didn’t have to bear this alone, before turning on his heel and heading back toward the castle.​

---

The walk back to the throne room felt longer than it ever had. Aidan’s mind raced as he prepared for the conversation with his father. He pushed open the heavy oak doors, the guards on either side bowing as he entered. King Cathal stood near the window, his broad frame silhouetted against the light filtering through the stained glass. His father turned as Aidan approached, his sharp, gray eyes narrowing as if he already sensed trouble.

“Aidan,” Cathal said, his tone clipped. Aidan straightened his posture, meeting his father’s gaze with unwavering resolve. “Meya knows about Magnus.”

Cathal’s expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You told her?” His voice was low but brimming with restrained anger. “Do you have any idea what kind of risk you’ve taken? What this could mean for us?”

“It couldn’t be avoided, Father. She has a right to know. And if we’re going to gain her trust—truly gain it—she needs to understand why all of this is happening.”

Cathal stepped closer, his presence imposing. “And what if that trust turns into betrayal? What if she uses what she knows against us?” He exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I understand your reasons, Aidan, but this is dangerous.”

“She won’t betray us,” Aidan said, his voice steady. “I trust her. I wouldn’t have taken this step if I didn’t.” He hesitated, then added, “And neither would Magnus.”

Cathal’s jaw tightened at the mention of Magnus, but after a long pause, he sighed heavily and nodded. “Very well. What’s done is done. But from here on, you tread carefully. Understand?”

“I understand,” Aidan replied, his tone resolute. “I’ll take full responsibility for this.”

Cathal’s gaze softened slightly, though his stern demeanor remained. “You always do,” he muttered. “Now go. There’s still much to be done.”

Aidan bowed his head briefly before turning and leaving the room. As he stepped into the corridor, he let out a slow breath, the weight of the day settling heavily on his shoulders. Whatever came next, he knew the stakes had only grown higher. But for Meya, for Magnus, for the kingdom, he was willing to face whatever challenges lay ahead.​

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Meya followed Aidan's lead, mounting the horse that had so patiently waited during the events that unfolded before her patient brown eyes. The path back to the palace blurred by as her thoughts wandered to The Keep, certain that Ronin had returned by now. Had he and her uncle decided her fate yet? As long as neither of them had received any sort of message that she had ceased to be an unwilling captive, there was a chance that their first move would be a rescue mission. If they didn't decide to outright abandon her. Unless something more critical had occurred in one of the South Seas’ other territories, Meya knew that Ronin would prioritize retrieving her for no other reason than it would feel like a challenge. Stealing back a daughter of the South Seas under the very nose of the kingdom that had committed the ultimate sin would feel like sport to him.

When they arrived back at the palace, Meya did her due diligence in making herself appear small. She strove to be unnoticed, concerned about what the wrong kind of attention could bring. As they walked from the castle, her eyes took in their surroundings as she tried to memorize where they were going. The cottage looked quaint by all accounts, and if dread hadn't been slowly twisting its way into Meya’s stomach, she would have appreciated the prospect that greeted them both. It took her a moment to realize that Aidan was not going to go with her, and the hum of insecurity she’d been feeling burst into a flame of panic, but she kept it from her face. That familiar feeling of her lungs tightening so much it hurt to breathe quickened her heartbeat as she looked between the small abide and Aidan's retreating back.

When he was out of sight, she turned back to the wooden door. Though she didn't know what was waiting for her inside, or who, the seriousness and secrecy that Aidan had conveyed was enough to tell her that this was big. Swallowing thickly, she reached up and pulled the hood back on her cloak, a few loose tendrils from her braid catching the wind and flying in front of her face. She wasn't certain if she should just walk in or knock. Lifting her hand, she rapped three times on the door, her muscles on alert.

The door swung open just enough for her to slide inside, and despite being unable to see who was behind the door, she stepped inside, her instincts warring with each other. Once she had cleared the entryway, she heard the door close abruptly and she turned on her heels quickly.

The dim light from the fire cast shadows across the tall man’s face, and despite the midday brightness outside, the drawn shutters shrouded the inside in darkness. It didn't matter, though. Meya would know the man standing before her anywhere, and the sight of those familiar blue eyes, so like her own, caused the floor to drop out from below her. She took two defensive steps backwards, her eyes widening as she nearly toppled over a pair of boots. Magnus reached out quickly, wrapping his hands around her arms to prevent her from falling, but when something sharp crossed her eyes, he released her.

If Meya had struggled to breathe earlier from anticipation, she now fought for air as the room closed in around her.

“I don't understand,” she finally managed to say, her voice tight and high-pitched. “You…” Shaking her head, she looked around frantically as if expecting some magical explanation to arise from the stone walls.

“You died.” The two words came out as an accusation, and her voice cracked on the last. Magnus’ eyes had guilt scrolled across them as he took a step towards her, his hands coming up in a sign of surrender.

“Meya, please let me explain.” His voice had the same rich, calm timbre she remembered so vividly. That deep rumble that had always soothed her wildness as a child, and the voice she'd continued to hear in her head when his words came spilling back to her in memory. The hurt and anger that threatened to choke her shone through her eyes and the rigidity of her body.

“Explain?” Her tone was incredulous, and her eyes darted around the room as if looking for clarity. Or an escape. Meya couldn't exactly be sure which of those two things she wanted more. “You- you have been alive all this time. Here?”

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Years of grieving his loss, years of struggling to live up to the man who had seemed like a giant to her, brokenhearted that she couldn't have just one more conversation with him. All that pain for a lie.

“Yes.” He responded quietly, renewed resolve pushing through the guilt. “Yes.”

“Why?” Tears pooled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall in front of him. Where she had felt safe in her vulnerability with Aidan, she felt nothing but betrayal for the man in front of her. “You left us alone. You abandoned me. I had… nobody.”

“You had your mother. It was too dangerous for me to try to send a message. If my brother had any inclination I was alive and had become a traitor, I cannot even begin to imagine the revenge he would have taken on the two of you.” That fear had driven sleep from Magnus more nights than he could count.

“I didn't have my mother.” That accusatory tone cut sharper than it had previously, her stare narrowing at the surprised look on her father's face.

“What do you mean?” His booming voice rose slightly as he took another step towards her, shadows creasing his face.

“She died because of you anyway.” Meya’s voice rose to match his volume, and when he stepped forward, she lifted her chin in defiant anger. “Your death was too much for her to bear, so she gave up. She stopped eating, stopped sleeping. She got sick, and refused to let a physician near her because she had decided that a life without you wasn't worth living.” The muscles in her jaw were beginning to ache from clenching so hard, and she felt like she was on the verge of snapping. The stunned look on Magnus' face told her that he’d had no idea that his wife had passed.

“I had nobody but Uncle Tyrell.” Her words, and their implication, struck her father, and she could see it in the grief that darkened his eyes. “Do you have any idea what your deceit has done?”

This time, it was Meya who took a step forward, her cheeks tinged pink with anger and something bordering hatred. Blinking back the hot tears that pricked her eyes, she balled her fists up by her sides, her nails digging into the palm of her hands.

“The atrocities I have committed over the years, the pain and violation I endured to serve a crown that preys on innocent people because you told me that we had to be loyal to family. You instilled in me the idea that we serve Uncle Tyrell regardless of what differing opinions we have. That we never turn on family. You fed me a belief that you yourself betrayed.” Meya was yelling now, her vocal chords straining at the unfamiliar volume from the normally soft spoken woman. That wild, uncontrollable little girl crashed into the trained, dangerous woman she'd become and the thread that had barely been holding her together snapped.

She lunged for Magnus, her fist connecting with the side of his face so quickly he hadn't been able to react. Despite the man’s tall, broad stature, the force of the hit caused him to stumble backwards from the sheer force of it. Meya struck again, her other fist connecting with his gut, a blow he was able to withstand a little better, but one that knocked the air from him. It shouldn't have surprised him how much stronger she’d become since he had first taught her to throw a punch, but it did. It reminded him just how deceptive Meya’s appearance made her. She had always seemed small and delicate, like the thinnest of glass that would shatter with the slightest amount of pressure. Magnus had always assumed that her strong-willed character came from trying to prove that she was none of those things. Even all these years later, Magnus could understand exactly why his brother would have valued her as a weapon.

He interrupted her third punch, taking her wrist and turning her so that he could pull her into his chest, her back pushing into him with the force of both their bodies fighting against each other. He reached up with his other arm and wrapped it around her, trying to hold her to him in an attempt to gain control of the situation. For her sake as much as his.

Meya’s eyes closed as her father effectively held her in a hug, the familiarity of his arms draining the unbridled anger from her. In one swift motion, she was sapped of all her energy, and her legs buckled. Magnus felt the shift in weight, and brought them both to their knees gently, his arms remaining around her tightly.

“Meya.” He said her name, the sound conveying the pain and tightness in his chest.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Hearing him sound so weak broke her, and Meya dissolved into sobs, failing in her determination to stay her emotions. He released her wrist, but wrapped his arm around her, pulling her back towards him as he rested his head against the side of hers.

“Why?” She choked out her question from earlier as her body continued to shake uncontrollably. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, and she felt the room begin to spin.

“I couldn't do it anymore.” His voice was soft in her ear, and felt his own eyes fill with tears. Magnus had loved his family more than life itself, and to sit here watching the pain he’d caused to his daughter almost felt too overwhelming to bear. “I didn't plan it, Meya. I need you to know that. If I had planned to leave, I would have found a way to bring the two of you. I never would have left you if there had been another way.”

The two of them remained silent for a while, Meya’s shoulders shaking as she cried. How she had tears left to shed was beyond her.

“My beloved one,” he said on an exhale, calling her by her namesake, “I know that an apology cannot even begin to right my wrongs. There are no words adequate enough to make what I did right, I know. You are, and have always been, the most important thing to me, and I have spent years trying to find a way to get to you without compromising either one of us.”

“Why?” She repeated the word for a third time, needing to understand. Forcing herself to take a deep breath, Meya began the arduous task of trying to regain control of herself. She was still shaking from adrenaline, but her tears had subsided for the time being. She felt Magnus swallow as he considered his words carefully.

“Tyrell had become more difficult to reason with. When I was sent out on that last mission, he withheld orders from me that he had given to my second in command. There was a village on the border of the South Seas and Gaelica that had started to take part in discussions with Gaelica about independence from the crown. This was at the time when Gaelica decided to really engage in battle with Tyrell, and having a secret alliance with a border village would have been advantageous. But, as you well know, Tyrell has spies everywhere. My mission was to lead a force to the village to inform them that their plans had been divulged and strike fear into them. I planned to do that without violence.

Tyrell had given my second orders to destroy the village and to make them all suffer. I was overthrown, and when I looked around at the carnage they were wreaking, I could not continue to aid in his pointless bloodshed. I made it look as though I died in battle by leaving my ring and shield by the cliff nearby in hopes they would assume I had gone into the sea. I managed to lead a small group of villagers into Gaelica.” He stopped speaking, his head turning slightly to look down at her, his heart clenching at just how much she had changed. All those missed years weighing on him. Reaching up, he ran a hand over the top of her head, smoothing back the loose hair as he’d done countless times when she’d been a child. She’d gotten her hair from her mother, who had those same wavy, golden locks. Where his wife had always worn her hair in pristine fashion befitting nobility, Meya’s refused to be tamed. Not unlike the child whose head they adorned. He imagined Tyrell had managed to temper that side of her down. She would have had to in order to survive.

“Then what?” The fight had left her altogether, and despite her desire to hold on to that anger, Meya's body had relaxed into him. She stared blankly at the floor, her eyes numb as though she had disconnected from her emotions completely.

“I stayed in a village that took us in. Gave them a false name and spent a couple years farming. I kept an ear on Gaelica’s progress. One night, we received word that a group of South Seas soldiers were marching towards the village, so we evacuated as many people as would leave and headed towards the city. Once there, I learned that while Gaelica was evenly matched with Tyrell, they could not quite turn the tide enough. I made the decision to present myself to King Cathal and offer what I could, but only with the strictest requirement that my presence remain unknown. It took a long time for him to trust me, almost a year, but once he did… at least, as much as any king can trust anyone, the war turned in Gaelica’s favor.”

“You are the reason they were able to outmaneuver the South Seas.” She summarized his story, her voice sounding as lifeless as her face looked at the moment. This whole time she had been fighting against her father. Her father had been fighting against her.

“I have a lot of insight into my brother’s mind that was of use. As well as providing information on supply routes, spies, and places the South Seas could secretly cross over the border. Without the will of its people, no war can be won. I cannot take credit for instilling the hope and conviction of freedom to the people of Gaelica. That is all Cathal.”

Closing her eyes, Meya focused on the pounding in her chest as she felt her father's hand move from the side of her head to her arm, rubbing it in a way meant to soothe her. How was she meant to respond to this? Meya wasn't just holding her words close to her chest, she was at a loss for what to say or do next. Bitterness had wedged itself into the space where years of grief and loss had resided, but she was too exhausted to truly feel it. The little girl who had idolized her father had stirred from a deep sleep after being buried for so long, and all she wanted to do was turn around, wrap her arms around him, and allow herself to be swallowed up by the comfort of him. For as many times as she'd begged the gods to give her just one more day with him, Meya wasn't sure this was the right answer to that.

“I-” She started to speak, but stopped just as quickly. The part of her that understood his actions began to gnaw at her, because she did truly understand his abhorrence for her uncle's actions. But did it justify leaving her to carry on following those same orders? Did it make it acceptable that her entire world had been turned upside down countless times because of the choice he made? His intentions were honorable, but they still left a trail of damage.

“I cannot ask you to forgive me, Meya,” he spoke instead, pulling her in tighter, selfishly needing to feel his daughter after so long without her. “I will not ask that of you because I do not deserve it. I did request that Cathal seek out any information about you that he could from his spies, but other than knowing you were alive and Tyrell kept you close, there was not much they were able to provide.”

“That is because it was my job to go unnoticed.” She spoke as though she were delivering the day’s weather, factually but detached.

Magnus nodded, the idea of the same girl who once knocked over a tray of goblets in the middle of a ball disappearing into the corners of the gathering hall almost brought a smile to his face.

“I need to leave.” Meya spoke abruptly, finding enough spark inside her to move her into action. Magnus bit down on the inside of his cheek, but nodded and relinquished his hold on her. Pushing herself to her feet, she took a step towards the door before turning to look at him. Her eyes moved over his face, that same beard she remembered having gone gray in spots.

“I love you, Meya.” He spoke, his voice tense as he struggled not to reach out and pull her back to him. Meya considered him for a moment, as if she were having the same internal struggle. Finally, she said nothing and turned from him, leaving the cottage behind.

*

When she returned to the castle, she had quickly and quietly hidden away in her room. Despite that, Hildy had somehow known she was back, and had bullied her into a change of clothes. Other than that, the older woman had left her to her solitude, clearly picking up on something in Meya’s demeanor that told her not to push.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Meya walked to the door that separated her room from Aidan’s. Without knocking, she stepped inside and found him inside the living quarters of his rooms.

“How long have you known?” Save for her cleanliness, Meya resembled the woman he first encountered. Her tone was flat, her face devoid of affect, and she looked empty. She felt empty, and after experiencing just how alive Aidan was capable of making her feel, terrified that she might have just been thrown back into her cage forever.

 

[Mr_Positive]

Prince Aidan stared at the dying embers in the hearth, the dim light casting flickering shadows on the stone walls of his chambers. His thoughts were tangled, looping endlessly around the events of the past few days. The image of Magnus - alive, whole, and very much real - was burned into his mind. His father had spoken in hushed tones of the alliance that had been forged in secret. Aidan could still hear the king’s words echoing in his ears.

“He has paid his price in exile and secrecy,” Cathal had said, his voice laced with both respect and sorrow. “But he is not without scars, Aidan. You must understand that.”

But understanding was proving to be a monumental task. Aidan had been raised on stories of Magnus Tyrell - stories of his bravery, his valor, and his supposed death. And now, to see him standing there, flesh and blood, was like meeting a ghost who carried the weight of a thousand untold tragedies.

A sharp knock pulled Aidan from his thoughts. No, not a knock—just the sound of the door swinging open. He turned sharply, his instincts honed from years of training, only to see Meya stride in.

She did not look at him immediately, but the air between them was thick with unspoken words, with anger, with betrayal. Aidan felt his stomach tighten. She had every right to be furious. He had led her to that door, left her there without a word, and walked away. He hadn’t even told her who waited on the other side, though the look in his eyes must have betrayed some part of it.

“Meya…” he began, but the word fell flat, swallowed by the silence she maintained. She stopped in the center of the room, her posture rigid, her hands clenched at her sides.

Aidan ran a hand through his hair, rising from his chair by the hearth. He crossed the room slowly, his boots soft against the stone floor. His mind raced, searching for the right words, the right explanation. But what explanation could suffice? How could he possibly justify what he had done?

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he admitted finally, his voice low but steady. “I thought… perhaps it wasn’t my place.”

He stopped a few paces from her, close enough to see the tension in her shoulders, the faint tremble of her hands. She was holding herself together by sheer force of will, and he couldn’t help but admire that strength, even as it unsettled him.

“You deserved to know,” he continued, his tone softening. “I should have told you before… before I left you there.”

His gaze dropped to the floor, shame clawing at him. “I thought I was doing the right thing. Letting you have that moment with him—without me standing in the way. But I see now that I… I was a coward.”

He looked up at her then, his gray eyes meeting hers. There was no judgment in his expression, only regret. “I can’t undo what I did. I can’t change the way I handled this. But I can listen. If you want to scream at me, to demand answers, I’ll give you what I can. If you want me to leave you alone, I’ll do that too. But Meya… I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He took a tentative step closer, his hand half-raised as if to reach out but stopping himself. “I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now. But I do know this—you are stronger than anyone I’ve ever met. And whatever you decide, I will stand by you. Always.”

The room fell into silence again, the only sound the faint crackle of the dying fire. Aidan remained where he was, watching her carefully, waiting for any sign of her response. But he wouldn’t push her. He owed her that much—he owed her so much more than that.​

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Meya’s piercing blue eyes were unrelenting in her stare as he spoke. She was at war with herself. Part of her was quick to assume that Aidan had betrayed her by hiding the truth about her father. After all, she'd been told for years never to trust anyone and was led to believe that anyone would betray her under the slightest circumstance. The other part of her, the part that had opened up so completely to him last night and let him claim her body and soul, could not reconcile the idea. Aidan had always exuded sincerity from the onset, and Meya had a difficult time believing that she could be led so far astray by someone.

As he began to speak, avoiding her question, a rock settled in the pit of her stomach. Why wasn't he answering her question? The fact that he was conceding guilt made her unease grow into a bitterness she could taste. When he moved closer to her, she dug her nails deeper into her skin. She was tempted to take a step backwards, but she remained rooted to the spot, a stubborn weed that refused to yield. Her gaze went to his hand, her body wanting to pull towards him and allow him to swallow her in his arms. But she couldn't do it. Not without knowing.

“How long have you known, Your Highness?” Repeating her question through gritted teeth, a spark flickered in her stormy eyes, replacing the numbness that had been present.