Kingdom of Gaelica (closed for QuirkyQuill)

[QuirkyQuill]

When he chuckled again, a feeling of accomplishment settled in her chest. Meya had a feeling that it was a muscle that wasn't frequently used, and while she hadn't set out to evoke such a response, it intrigued her nonetheless. It did make her curious what his laugh would sound like, if there was something motivating enough to bring it out of him.

"But sometimes, I wonder if it’s possible to serve others without losing yourself in the process."

“Those who truly lead others, not just seek to dominate, do not just carry one large burden. They have many burdens cast upon them from all directions, and each of those burdens takes a piece of that person.” She pondered for a moment and then stood up and walked over to the table to pick up the mostly empty wine bottle from the table before striding back over to where he sat.

“When you,” she said and lifted the wine bottle to give it a gentle shake, “pour yourself into other people and your kingdom, you are giving them a piece of yourself. Your spirit. Your vigor.” She poured a little bit of wine from the bottle into her cup. “For every thought or action you make, or every person who lays their worries on you, your cup…or bottle rather… continues to empty.” Meya continued to empty the wine bottle into her glass one pour at a time as she spoke.

“So, by the end of your day, you’re empty.” Again, she demonstrated the now empty bottle. Taking her glass, she walked over to the fire and poured the contents of her wine glass to the side of the fire, causing a few of the flames to sizzle and spark, but not to go out.

“Then, because you have done nothing to refill your bottle,” she spoke gently as she walked back towards him, “when the next day comes, and your people need more of you…”

She turned the bottle upside down on top of her own cup, nothing dripping from the bottle.

“You have nothing left to give.” She walked the bottle back to the table and returned it to its place before settling back into the chair beside him.

“So, no, I do not think it selfish that you would wish to find the simple moments to restore what you give each day. I think it is necessary.” With that, her eyes returned to the fire, the flames she’d disturbed moments ago dancing back to life.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Those words set her off balance, and she looked at him trying to find some malicious meaning behind them. He would be glad, she reminded herself, because she could offer him something nobody else could. There was nothing malignant in the way he looked at her, though.

“To moments of peace.”

She raised her glass in response to his, but remembered as soon as the cup touched her lips it was empty. Pulling it back, she furrowed her brows as she looked into the emptiness, her lip poking out in something resembling a pout. Not that she would ever admit to pouting.

“Pouring that wine out seemed like a much better idea a few moments ago than it does now.”

 

[Mr_Positive]

As the evening wore on and the fire crackled in the hearth, Aidan felt a surprising sense of ease settle over him. The conversation with Meya had been more revealing than he’d anticipated—on both sides. Her analogy of the wine bottle had struck a chord with him, one he hadn’t expected. It was a simple yet profound way to describe how he had been feeling lately—drained, constantly giving, with little left for himself. He had been doing his duty as a prince, as a leader, but somewhere along the way, he had forgotten how to refill his own spirit.

Aidan glanced over at her, watching as she sat back in her chair after the small mishap with her empty glass. Her expression, with that almost-pout at having poured out her last bit of wine, brought the hint of a smile to his face. It was a rare moment of levity, one that felt oddly intimate in the way it softened the atmosphere between them. There was a part of him that had started to enjoy these dinners, despite the strange circumstances that had brought them together.

But all things had to come to an end, and eventually, Aidan stood, signaling that the evening had drawn to its close. "I suppose it's time we both retire for the night," he said quietly, his voice gentle. He watched as she rose from her chair, and for a brief moment, their eyes met—no more than a heartbeat, but in that moment, Aidan felt a flicker of something unspoken between them.

He led her to the door of his chambers, and though his words were polite and formal, his gaze lingered for a moment longer as she stepped into the hallway. As the door closed behind her, Aidan found himself standing alone in the quiet room, the warmth of the fire now a distant presence. His mind replayed fragments of their conversation, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a small sense of anticipation for the days ahead.

---

In the days that followed, their meetings became a quiet routine. Each evening, Aidan would invite Meya to dine with him in the privacy of his chambers, away from the eyes of the court and the expectations of duty. They would talk, though never about anything too personal, and yet each conversation felt like another layer was being peeled back. He learned more about her—her sharp wit, her resilience, and the weight of the responsibilities she carried. And while she remained guarded, there was an unspoken understanding between them that neither pushed too hard nor asked too much.

Aidan found himself looking forward to these dinners, not just because of the conversation, but because of the way it allowed him to step out of his role as prince, if only for a few hours. He had begun to shave his beard, the rough scruff that had been a part of his appearance for years now gone. It was a small act, but it felt like shedding a layer of armor, presenting a more open version of himself to her. The change was subtle, but when he caught his reflection in the mirror, he almost didn’t recognize the man looking back.

The night of their next dinner came, and Aidan prepared with a little more care than usual. The sharpness of his jawline was now visible, the absence of the beard making him feel lighter, less burdened by the image he had projected for so long. When she arrived, Aidan could see a flicker of surprise in her eyes as she took in his new appearance, though she said nothing. He merely smiled in response, pouring them both a glass of wine as they settled into their usual seats by the fire.

The firelight flickered in the room, casting shadows that danced along the walls, and the air between them felt different tonight. Lighter, somehow, though neither of them acknowledged it aloud. As they spoke, Aidan found himself more relaxed, more open. He listened to her stories, though he remained careful not to pry too deeply. The space they had carved out for these dinners had become a sanctuary of sorts—one where both could find a brief respite from the weight of their lives.

As the conversation continued, Aidan couldn't help but notice the subtle changes in his own feelings. What had begun as a mere duty—to meet with her, to learn from her—had shifted into something more. He respected her, admired her even, for her strength and her wit. But there was something else there, a quiet longing that he had not expected. It wasn’t love, not yet, but it was the seed of something he wasn’t entirely ready to name.

The evening passed as it always did, with the two of them exchanging stories, thoughts, and ideas. But when the time came for Meya to retire to her chambers, Aidan hesitated for just a moment longer than usual. His eyes met hers as he stood to bid her goodnight, and he realized then how much these moments had come to mean to him.

"Goodnight," he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that hadn’t been there before. And as she turned to leave, Aidan found himself hoping, more than ever, that there would be many more nights like this to come.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Meya was on the verge of losing her mind. She had known when she’d agreed to this that she wouldn’t have any control over what her days looked like, and it was still better than being locked up in a cell, but staring at the same four walls all day was maddening. There was a limit to how many times she could pace around her room. She had also read the same book twice because it was the only one she had in her room, and it wasn’t even good the first time. The prince had things to attend to during the day, and it was logical that as an enemy of the crown, she wouldn’t be at the top of the invitation list. While he continued to reiterate that she was not there as an enemy, Meya knew others viewed her as just that.

She could see the hard stares from some of the guards that stood vigil outside her door. One in particular had almost taken her aback by the look of pure hatred he’d cast at her when she’d returned from dinner one night. His body language had tightened, and her eyes picked up on the way his fist tightened ever so subtly. It made Meya uneasy, and she remained more vigilant and aware of her surroundings when he stood outside her room.

The second night she’d gone to dinner with the prince, Meya had been caught off guard by his appearance. With the beard gone, she could actually see him, and the change had shaved years from his battle weary face. It was easier for her to pick up the nuances of his expressions, but it also made it more difficult for her to not stare at him. The scar was more prominent now that there was nothing to detract from it.

Though conversation came a little easier each night, Meya could tell they were both careful about what they spoke of. While she shared some stories of her mother, she hadn’t spoken of her father since divulging the story about the field. They refrained from speaking of their warring kingdoms and the real reason she was here. It seemed a matter of time before she would be expected to share information on the South Seas, and part of her wished it would just happen so she could stop wondering when it would. But, she was glad those things did not infringe upon their nightly talks. His quarters had begun to feel like a retreat from the real world, and contentment washed over her. It wasn’t until she returned to her room that she would remind herself not to trust it too much. It also made her wonder if this type of life was normal for some people. Days that weren’t spent in a training arena, or pouring over maps to create a plan, or constantly assessing everybody around them.

"Goodnight."

Meya curtsied, bowing her head slightly, before she looked up at him. The way he was looking at her made her breath catch in her chest, and she was fairly certain she had never felt the little trill that ran through her stomach before.

“Good night, Your Highness,” she said quietly, a small, half-smile accompanying her words. When she was back in her room, she leaned against the door, her face taking on a perplexed expression.

What is happening?

*

Day five. At this point, Meya would have almost preferred torture.

Perhaps that was his plan from the beginning. Slowly drive me insane, and wear me down.

Her sardonic thoughts didn’t carry much weight, even inside her own mind, as she stood on the balcony to her room. The morning was gray and overcast, a sign that winter was soon to turn the weather. Breathing in the cold air, Meya pulled the shawl around her shoulders more tightly. Hildy had already been in this morning and had helped her dress, and now she was left to her own solitude.

Finally, she’d had enough. It was still early in the morning, so she hoped the prince had not yet left his rooms for the day. Stepping out into the hallway, the guard who made her uneasy immediately stepped forward and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. She narrowed her own gaze to meet his, but said nothing as she turned towards Aidan’s room. Walking over, she reached up and rapped on the door three times. The knocks themselves sounded frustrated. When he opened the door, she curtseyed quickly before lifting her gaze to his, a pleading look in them.

“Your Highness, I hope you will forgive the unannounced visit. I must beg of you to please allow me to please leave the confines of my room. If I must spend another day counting the stones on my wall, I am quite likely to run myself through with the fire poker myself. A walk. A ride. At this point, I will gladly assist in the kitchen or shovel horse stalls.” Her voice was steady when spoke, despite her choice of words.

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips as he listened to her plea. It was the most direct he had heard her be yet, and he could see the sincerity in her gaze—she looked on the verge of madness. The sight amused him more than he’d care to admit, though he stifled the laugh that threatened to escape, maintaining a semblance of composure.

He hadn’t intended for her to feel caged in. In truth, he hadn’t given much thought to the limitations she faced beyond their dinners together. With all the demands on him, he’d simply assumed she’d be comfortable enough with time to herself in her chambers. But, seeing her now, he realized it had been a poor assumption.

“Forgive me,” he began, a gentle teasing lacing his tone, “I didn’t realize I was turning my guest quarters into a prison cell. If you’ve started counting the stones, it may indeed be time to consider a bit more freedom.”

He watched the relief that flickered over her face, a hint of surprise accompanying it, and he realized then how used she must be to restriction. A pang of guilt nudged him—though the woman was, technically, his hostage, he found he no longer wished for her to feel as though she were.

"I’ll admit," he continued, keeping his gaze steady, "this arrangement we’ve found ourselves in is… unconventional. And while I am, unfortunately, still a prince of a kingdom at war with yours, I am beginning to trust that you’re not about to bolt off into the hills and vanish on me.” He paused, a smile hinting in his eyes. “After all, I think you’re beginning to enjoy our little dinners as much as I am.”

That earned him a wry look, and he chuckled softly, letting himself ease into this new dynamic between them. It was strange, unfamiliar, yet strangely comforting to stand before her, this woman from his enemy's court, feeling more like an ally than a captive.

“I’ll arrange for a guard to accompany you on your outings,” he said, his tone turning a shade more serious. “I trust you, Meya—but I wouldn’t be much of a prince if I allowed you to roam freely without some caution. And," he added with a smirk, "I would hate to explain to my father how I misplaced our… esteemed guest.”

He gave her a knowing look, his eyes glinting with a spark of warmth. “I’ll see that your guard keeps a respectful distance. Just someone to ensure you’re… not tempted to turn our stables into your great escape.”

Aidan saw the flash of gratitude in her expression, and he felt a sense of satisfaction that he hadn’t anticipated. Their nightly conversations had allowed him to see past her role as a representative of the South Seas, and he found himself appreciating her company. She was quick-witted, perceptive, and refreshingly honest. He hadn’t expected to find these qualities in her, but then again, she had defied his expectations at nearly every turn.

“Shall we start with something simple?” he asked, leaning casually against the doorframe. “A walk in the gardens, perhaps? Or do you fancy a ride?” He knew from her story that she was likely skilled on horseback, and the thought of her racing through the fields was oddly fitting. She had the spirit of someone who belonged to open spaces, not the confines of castle walls.

"And don’t worry," he added, giving her a playful smile. "I’ll make sure to send more books to your room as well. Ones that don’t compel you to consider death by fire poker." His smile grew at the faint lift of her lips. It felt good to make her smile, to draw her from the edge of the darkness she so often wore like a mantle.

As he made the final arrangements, Aidan caught himself observing the subtle shifts in her demeanor. She had softened, if only slightly, and while he couldn’t be sure if it was trust or simple relief, he felt an undeniable satisfaction in watching her guard lower. She was no longer the stoic figure she had first been when she arrived, all duty and restrained animosity. She was simply Meya, a woman who—much like him—carried the weight of duty, of her kingdom’s needs, and her own conflicted loyalties.

“There,” he said finally, stepping back. “I’ll send word to the guard, and you’ll be free to roam. But,” he added, his voice dipping into a playful caution, “should you attempt any great escape, rest assured, I will have you back here in time for dinner.”

The surprise that flashed across her face was satisfying. He wanted her to know that, while he was loosening her reins, he was still very much aware of the stakes. A delicate balance had been struck between them, one he wasn’t willing to let slip. Yet, beneath the gentle threat, there was something kinder—an unspoken assurance that he was willing to allow her to find peace in his lands, as strange as that arrangement might be.

“Go on, then. Take what time you need,” he said, gesturing to the hall. “And try not to get into too much trouble. Remember,” he smirked, “I’ll still be here, waiting to hear all about it over our next meal.”

Watching her leave, Aidan couldn’t help the slight shift in his own spirits. The strange, uncharted territory between them was yielding surprising moments—moments he hadn’t anticipated, but found himself oddly grateful for. In the quiet after her departure, he realized, with an unexpected certainty, that he’d be looking forward to hearing how she spent her newfound freedom.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Meya’s eyes narrowed slightly at the smile he wore, though there was no real malice behind the expression. Was he mocking her? If her good breeding hadn’t won out, she would have crossed her arms like a petulant child, more so out of playfulness. She would never behave in such a way with sincerity.

“If you’ve started counting the stones, it may indeed be time to consider a bit more freedom.”

Despite her eyes still glaring at him, they also seemed to carry a smile in the, though her mouth remained pursed.

“There are sixty three around the fireplace,” she retorted, her face flat.

“After all, I think you’re beginning to enjoy our little dinners as much as I am.”

Though she gave him a dry look, his words struck a truth inside of her that she wasn’t quite sure she was willing to admit even to herself. Dinner with the prince had become something different entirely all together. It was almost akin to a feeling of friendship, only with a friend you couldn’t entirely trust and who could, under the right circumstance, see to your death. But they had become a beacon of solace, and Meya wasn’t entirely sure she could blame it on the fact that it was her only activity of the day.

When his tone shifted, it served as a reminder that they weren’t, in fact, friends. This was a political decision, and for all the openness and warmth she’d come to expect from him, she’d needed the reminder that she was just a tool. Nothing more. Something closed off in her when he spoke, but he had at least acquiesced to her request. She would certainly not argue.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t expected to be followed around by guards. It would have been strange had she not, but it was the way he tried to soften the blow by using that same jovial tone he used when they were discussing other things while sitting by a fire to bring up any potential of her absconding.

“I gave my word, Your Highness, which is something I do not do lightly.” Though her tone wasn’t sharp, she couldn’t match his warmth. It would have felt disingenuous.

“I’ll still be here, waiting to hear all about it over our next meal.”

She nodded, curtseying before turning and leaving. Meya opted for a ride, and was grateful when the saddled horse was brought to her. Running her hands along the dark brown creature’s flank, the soft, warm body calmed her immediately. Animals were simple. They were uncomplicated. All one had to do was train it and show it that you could be trusted to be in command.

Meya wasted no time setting out, ignoring the guard that followed her. He would keep up with her, and she wanted to take advantage of feeling like she could breathe. Her pace was conservative while she remained inside the gates, but once she found her way back to the open road, she brought the horse up to a canter for a while. Once the horse was warmed up, she let him loose. He gratefully darted ahead, expending his pent up energy. Meya smiled as she leaned forward ever so slightly, wind whipping through her braid. This was a horse who had a wild streak in him, and they understood each other perfectly. The prince hadn’t given her a timeframe, so she didn’t rush back to the castle.

When the skies that had been threatening to break loose finally did, it was nearing dark. Meya brought the horse up to a stop for a moment, raising her head to the sky and closing her eyes. The rain was frigid, and she had no doubt that in the coming month it would turn to snow. Feeling the discomfort from the droplets on her face reminded her that she was still alive. Still breathing. Trapped, yes. But, there was still hope for something to happen.

The real question was what did she want to happen? King Tyrell was family, and her father had always valued loyalty to family. Aidan said he was trying to build something that she agreed with far more than her uncle’s principles. Opening her eyes, she realized just how much time had passed. Urging the horse forward, and feeling a little guilty for the guard that had been forced to shadow her, she cantered back towards the castle.

By the time she reached the stables and handed the horse over to the stableboy, she was completely drenched. Her teeth chattered as she made every effort to keep them from doing so, and her hands had turned to ice. Darkness had just fallen, and the torches lit up the castle from inside, paving the way back to her room.

 

[Mr_Positive]

As Aidan paced the corridor near his chambers, he glanced out a narrow window. A storm had begun to brew on the horizon, a thick wall of clouds looming over the lands with an ominous slowness, and he felt the familiar ache of worry settle in. His thoughts drifted to Meya, who had taken a horse out that morning. He found himself hoping she’d return before the full force of the storm overtook her. It struck him how odd it was to feel concern for her well-being; it was unlike him, to say the least, yet he couldn’t shake the image of her facing the downpour, the cold cutting through her like a blade.

A sigh escaped him as he turned back toward his duties, still unfinished and demanding his attention. His day had been typical of late: endless meetings with advisors, emissaries, and council members—all of whom were increasingly anxious about the strained tensions with the South Seas. Between Cathal’s demands and the military counsel’s relentless warnings, Aidan felt himself caught in an unending tug of war. Every decision weighed heavily on him, and, though he strove to push back his personal feelings, he felt the loneliness of leadership creeping in around him.

By the time the evening drew close, Aidan returned to his chambers, weary but resolute, eager for the evening’s dinner with Meya. It had quickly become his one true reprieve from the constraints of duty, a brief hour or two in which he could let down his guard, even if only slightly. Their conversations, though often guarded, had a warmth to them that he hadn’t experienced in some time.

As he stepped into the dining chamber, he noticed Meya had already arrived, still damp from the storm, her expression set but her cheeks flushed from the cold. He gestured for her to sit, taking a seat across from her, and found himself relieved to see her safe—perhaps more relieved than he would have admitted to himself. After a short silence, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze warm and inquisitive.

“I trust you managed to enjoy yourself,” he began, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “Even if the rain seemed determined to turn your ride into a soaking.” He watched her for a response, curiosity clear in his expression. “Tell me, did you find anything of interest?”

Aidan listened with quiet interest, taking a sip of his wine as she shared fragments of her day. The vision of her on horseback, galloping freely across the fields, came easily to mind. She must have looked every bit the warrior she was, fierce and unrestrained, a sight both formidable and strangely beautiful. He found himself almost envious of the simplicity in her joy, remembering his own time spent riding before his duties grew too heavy.

“I’ll admit,” he said, his tone becoming more thoughtful, “I’ve missed those kinds of days myself. Being a prince doesn’t leave much room for freedom. Too many duties, not enough moments to feel alive beyond these walls. But I hope, in allowing you these outings, you can find the calm our surroundings so rarely offer.”

The moment was quieter than he’d expected, and Aidan sensed a mutual understanding between them, a shared weariness from their respective roles. He was reminded of her isolation within the castle, of the guarded glances she must receive from nearly every person she encountered, and the pressure that undoubtedly weighed on her as much as it did on him. Perhaps, he thought, it was time to bridge the chasm between them—time to foster the trust he needed if there were ever to be peace.

Clearing his throat, he leaned forward slightly, allowing his tone to soften. “I realize that our situation isn’t easy for either of us,” he said, meeting her gaze. “But I would like to change that, if possible. You are here to ensure your family’s future, and I... well, I hope to create one in which our kingdoms might coexist.” He offered her a small smile, meant to lighten his earnestness. “It’s a grand notion, I know. But I don’t believe it’s impossible.”

Aidan felt the faint stirrings of hope as he spoke. If she could see his genuine intentions, perhaps the wall between them might come down, even just a little.

He took another sip of wine, considering his next words carefully. “Tell me about your family,” he said, his voice warmer. “If we’re to truly understand one another, it may be easier if we start from what matters to us. I know your uncle leads, but I realize I know very little beyond that. Do you have siblings? Family beyond Tyrell?”

He waited, his eyes fixed on her, studying her expressions with newfound openness. Though he understood her family posed a threat to his kingdom, he also saw in her eyes the complex mix of loyalty and frustration. And, perhaps, if he could learn to see her as more than the South Seas' representative, they might find the common ground he so desperately sought.

The conversation drifted into a more comfortable rhythm, and for the first time, Aidan let the guard on his own heart drop, just slightly, allowing his humanity to show through. He wasn’t only a prince, a potential enemy; he was someone equally worn by duty, by his father’s expectations, and the relentless weight of his responsibilities. The words came more easily now, and he surprised himself with how willing he was to share parts of himself he’d long since buried.

“Sometimes,” he admitted, glancing at her with a faint smile, “I think the title is half a blessing and half a curse. There’s duty and honor, yes, but it also means everyone around you only sees that. The prince, the soldier, but rarely… the man beneath it.” He laughed softly, almost to himself. “Not that it matters much. I doubt any of the council cares about the man behind the crown.”

His words hung in the air between them, the weight of his honesty unexpected. But he sensed that Meya could understand this; she was, after all, not unlike him—a pawn in a grand game that neither had asked to play. Yet, perhaps together, they could find a way to reshape the rules.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Meya found Hildy fluttering about in her room when she arrived, drenched to the bone and stark white from the coldness. Not only was she cutting it close to being late for dinner, leaving Hildy little time to make her presentable, but she was apparently “courting death” by walking around in such a state.

“Going to catch a chill…” The older woman muttered as she dropped the soaking dress on the floor. Meya tried to reassure her that it wasn't that bad, but Hildy hit her with such a fierce stare that Meya thought it wiser to just stand in silence while the woman spoke her peace. Unfortunately, she hadn't quite reached a state of peace by the time she was lacing Meya into her dress.

“Fever!” Yank. “Cough.” Yank. “Wet lungs.” Yank.

By the time she finished, Meya was certain that she had to worry more about asphyxiation at this point than catching any illness. As further proof of her peevishness, Hildy braided her hair into one single, simple, damp braid down her back.

When Meya made it to dinner, she was feeling both thoroughly chastised and a little snippy herself. She rubbed her hands together trying to push off the remaining coldness that still clung to her. Aidan’s arrival left her feeling conflicted after their discussion this morning. He greeted her with that same camaraderie she had come to expect from him, but it still bothered he had used that warmth when he had admonished her about trying to run. It just felt like those two things required two different sides of him.

She was a little guarded, but she did sit across from him, her posture much more erect than previous nights given Hildy's immovable lace job. Once she was settled in, she ate slowly, almost noncommittally. When he inquired about her day, she looked up at him and recognized for the first time that he looked worn down. That weariness softened the negative feelings she’d been harboring about their morning interaction. Silently, she reminded herself to give him grace.

“The rain did not bother me at all, although I’m not sure I can say the same for the poor guard who was obligated to endure it. Hildy certainly had very firm opinions about it as well.” Wincing slightly, she reached down and laid her hand on the front of her dress, still finding it difficult to breathe.

“Tell me, did you find anything of interest?”

“Truthfully, today was less about exploring and more about just…” Her sentence trailed as she struggled to find the right word. What had it been about? Pretending she was just some normal woman out riding a horse? In horrific weather? “Moving. Just being able to move.”

“Tell me about your family.”

Every muscle tensed up, and had her air not already been constricted by her dress, she imagined the question would have made it difficult for her to breathe. He meant well, and she knew it. He had no way of knowing that this was a subject she did not broach. She would occasionally talk about her mother. She loved her mother, and they were close, but the relationship with her father had been something entirely of its own. He had been at the center of both their orbits, and while her mother had grown ill and died after her father did not return, Meya always wondered if her mother had simply given up on life after her father was gone.

No longer hungry, Meya stood from the table, hoping to buy her time to formulate a response while simultaneously finding reprieve from the dress. She walked to stand by the fire, her arms wrapping around herself as she relished the warmth.

“There really is not much to tell. I am the only one left from my immediate family. I was an only child. The king became my guardian, and I grew up with his two sons and daughter. What about you?” She turned to face him, the fire warming her back. Simple. To the point. Perhaps evasive.

As he continued to speak, Meya found herself nearly lulled by his voice. When he spoke, the rich warmth of it settled somewhere inside her.

“The prince, the soldier, but rarely… the man beneath it.”

“And what would you have them see, Your Highness?” Her head tilted slightly as she looked at him inquisitively. “If they did see you for the man you are, what would you hope that to be?”

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan took in her question, the flickering firelight casting shadows across her face as she looked at him, genuinely curious. It was a question he had hardly ever asked himself, and he took a slow breath, surprised by the intimacy of the moment. How many times had he crafted his identity based on others’ expectations? The notion that he could be someone beyond the prince or soldier—an idea Meya seemed to invite—stirred a longing in him he hadn’t known was there.

He smiled softly, choosing his words carefully. “I suppose I’d want to be seen as... well, human, first of all. A man with flaws, perhaps, but one who tries to uphold his duty with as much heart as skill.” He met her gaze, the earnestness in his own surprising even him. “I know it might sound like empty words, but I’d like to be known as a man of reason, someone who holds the weight of others’ lives with respect.”

Aidan paused, tracing the delicate carvings along the edge of his goblet, his thumb brushing against the cool metal. “It’s hard to convey that, though, when everyone around you expects you to be perfect, unyielding. My father, King Cathal… he’s a proud man, raised on legends of conquest and discipline, ideals he instilled in me from a young age. My mother passed before I was old enough to know her, so most of what I remember comes from my father’s ideals.” He gave a dry chuckle, acknowledging the obvious weight behind his words. “If there’s warmth in me, I must have inherited it from her, wherever she is.”

With a hint of vulnerability, he glanced up to see her reaction, hoping that sharing something so personal might draw her out. He sensed the tension in her stance, the guarded way she held herself, and he wondered if his openness could coax her to share her own memories.

Shifting in his seat, he added thoughtfully, “But my father… he’s built an empire on the shoulders of his ancestors’ legends, and that’s what he expects me to do. And though I respect him, I can’t shake the feeling that maybe there’s another way. Maybe that’s why this alliance matters to me. Perhaps peace isn’t something achieved by one kingdom’s dominance over another but by mutual respect.”

He let the words hang in the air, their weight pressing into the quiet. Meya seemed to listen carefully, though her posture remained cautious, as if a single misplaced word might unravel whatever tentative trust they had built. Aidan reached for his wine, his eyes flicking to the fire, hoping to break the silence with a question that could gently nudge her toward a more open exchange.

“I can imagine the stories you carry of your own family might be difficult to revisit,” he said softly. “But I find myself curious about what shaped you. Were they always devoted to King Tyrell’s cause? Or perhaps there was something else that drove them?”

He hoped that his question might offer her a path into sharing something of her own, something that went beyond the formalities she usually clung to. In their time together, he had come to appreciate the person beneath her careful composure—the hint of a stubborn will, the glimpses of humor, the unspoken sadness that sometimes shadowed her eyes. He wanted to know what made her, what lay beneath the surface of her allegiance to her uncle.

“My family history is a mix of battle and peace, you see,” he continued, wanting to give her more context. “My grandfather was a pacifist, unusual for our lineage. He always believed that negotiation was the answer, that treaties were as strong as swords. But he passed when I was young, and his son, my father, saw things differently. They often clashed over the future of our kingdom, over how to lead and what mattered most. My father’s view won out, of course, but it’s left me with questions. I find myself wondering if we could one day honor both sides—strength and peace.”

His voice softened as he looked at her. “That’s why I asked about your family. I hoped to understand if your view aligns with your uncle’s vision or if there’s another side to you… a side that’s perhaps closer to mine than we both realize.”

The fire crackled softly, filling the spaces between his words. Aidan watched her closely, sensing her hesitation and her effort to guard her thoughts. He knew better than to press too hard, but he let the silence settle, hoping she would feel safe enough to speak freely. The tension between them was undeniable, but so was the possibility—an understanding unspoken, a common ground they might be able to reach if only they could trust each other.

“If nothing else,” he added gently, his voice barely above a whisper, “you should know that whatever you share with me here will stay between us.” He leaned forward, his tone genuine. “I can’t promise much, but I can promise that.”

It was as close to a vow as he could make to her, a pledge that what passed between them in these quiet, vulnerable moments would be kept safe. Aidan knew the stakes were high, that the success of this alliance depended on more than treaties and titles; it required trust, fragile and rare, and he was determined to earn hers.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

For a moment, Meya was uncertain if he would answer, but she studied him intently as he thought through her question. She noticed the way his chest rose and fell with that long breath, and didn't realize at first that her gaze was trailing along his shoulder line before climbing back up to his face. Thoughtfulness radiated from his green eyes before he spoke, and as his voice filled the silence, her head tilted slightly as she listened intently. She rested her hand on her stomach in an effort to offer some reprieve from the laces.

“ A man with flaws…”

Meya's eyebrows rose at that, but she let him finish speaking before she responded. She walked back over towards where he sat and considered reclaiming her seat, but thought better of it. Instead, she sat on the edge of the short, hardwood table placed in front of the chairs, finding it easier to breathe.

“A man who admits he has flaws,” she said as her left eyebrow rose,” is a rare treasure.” She rested her hands on either side of her body, her fingers curling over the side of the table as she contemplated him for a moment longer.

“...someone who holds the weight of others’ lives with respect.”

“I do not assume to know your people, Your Highness, but I think they might surprise you. I do not know how you conduct yourself with them, but I have seen your behavior towards me, someone you have every right to loath and every reason to treat with contempt, and if they have seen even half the man I have, I find it hard to believe that they do not already see you in such a light.” Meya spoke slowly, her voice gentle but empathic at the same time.

“If there’s warmth in me, I must have inherited it from her, wherever she is.”

“It is strange how people seem to grow up and either share their parents’ ideals or encompass the very opposite.” Furrowing her eyebrows lightly, she looked down at her shoe as she spoke. “Like we are either absolutely willing to lean into what we’re taught or we are searching for something we wish we’d had instead.”

She lifted her gaze back to him as he spoke about his father, and she found his openness about their differences intriguing. Borderline baffling, really.

“Were they always devoted to King Tyrell’s cause?”

Meya stared at him blankly as she tried to process what he was actually asking her, but then a small smile appeared on her face, though there was no mirth that accompanied the look.

“Sometimes, Your Highness, you ask me questions that highlight your own privilege. In the South Seas, and especially in the Royal Family, there is never a question about whether or not you serve the king. We don’t choose to support him, we are raised just knowing it is our place to do so. The idea of anything else honestly would never have occurred to me. For us, that is normal. Not all nobility serve the king in battle. In fact, very few do. They serve the king in other ways by managing his lands, ensuring that the people who live and work those lands do as they are meant to.”

It was truly fascinating to her, listening to him describe the relationship between his father and grandfather, and then the differences between him and his father. Meya imagined that Tyrell probably preferred Aidan’s grandfather. If he had been so passive, he would have followed the South Seas’ orders and her uncle’s rule without objection.

“That’s why I asked about your family.”

That sentence lingered in her mind as he continued to speak, her heart clenching at the very hint of a memory of her father. He would have liked Aidan. He would have respected what he was trying to stand for. When his voice dipped to a whisper, she felt the hair on her arms stand up, his tone settling inside her in a way that caught her off guard. Her blue eyes lifted back to his and she swallowed hard at the intensity with which he was looking at her. It was her turn to take a deep breath as she worked to push whatever that feeling was that had shivered its way down her arms back down.

“You speak again of a privilege for sons to disagree with their fathers. Your father is not inherently wrong, and neither was your grandfather. Or you, for that matter. But treatise and negotiations only work when both parties are amenable. Your father recognized that Gaelica’s freedom would not be won from the king unless they spoke the same language, and war is the only language of the king. He took on the burden of winning Gaelica its freedom, which had to be done by strength. That now gives you the privilege of deciding what type of kingdom is Gaelica to be for her people. I believe balance is possible, in time. Right now, your father likely feels that this newfound independence is similar to a baby that has just been born. Its life is delicate and new, and easily shattered. It can be hard to focus on those priorities that seem to be luxuries. Many other nations have tried to fight their way to freedom, and Gaelica is the first to succeed in generations. Your kingdom saw victory because her people stood together and had the conviction that they were fighting for each other. They were fighting for something beyond themselves. They were bonded in a way that my uncle will never understand. That does not come without heart, and without that heart, Gaelica just becomes another South Seas. Without that quality of life that you are determined to bring to your kingdom, your people would not stay strong together for long.”

Meya couldn’t remember the last time she had spoken as much to anybody about anything. Part of her felt as though she were violating some unwritten rule by speaking so freely. Her eyes dropped to the floor between them again, her brows creasing as she chewed on her bottom lip. Without thinking about it, she laid her hands in her lap, her fingers gently turning the ring in circles around her thumb.

“My father thought like you do,” she said, her voice suddenly small. “I… I never talk about him. Ever. He…When we realized he was never coming home, it felt like every good thing in this world had died. He was the only person who could approach my uncle with different ideas. For all my uncle’s hardness, he truly loved his brother. He valued my father’s insight. He wasn’t a kind king when my father was alive, but there was a little more mercy in his actions. After he was gone, it was as though that small string of humanity my father brought to him snapped altogether. I don’t know if it was because of my father’s death and he needed to take his anger out on everyone or if it was because he lost the voice of reason and no longer had someone in his ear tempering his viciousness. The way he trained his officers became more brutal. He trusted nobody and was constantly accusing people of treason.

My father always said we should strive for peace. But, even though he said that, he was steadfast in his duty to his brother.” At this, she did meet his gaze, her fingers still splayed over the ring. “My views, as you put it, never even came into question because at the end of the day, we were expected to support the king and have loyalty to him.”

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan listened intently as Meya spoke, her words revealing a perspective he hadn’t quite expected. The tension in her expression spoke volumes; he saw it in the way her fingers twisted over her ring, a delicate but telling gesture. The lines in her brow deepened with every word as she described her uncle’s unyielding rule and the weight of her father’s influence, lost too soon. Her quiet sadness drew him in, tugging at a hidden part of himself that could not help but sympathize. In many ways, he could almost feel her loss through her words—could feel the echo of that grief she seemed to carry alone.

For a moment, Aidan found himself grappling with the urge to comfort her, but he pushed it down, knowing this wasn’t the moment for empty reassurances. Instead, he leaned forward, his hands resting thoughtfully on his knees, meeting her gaze with a steady intensity.

“Your father sounds like a remarkable man,” he said softly, respecting the weight of her vulnerability. “It’s clear he left a lasting impression on you and your uncle, even if that impression didn’t seem to soften Tyrell. But sometimes, even when we lose someone, their presence lingers. They become part of the decisions we make, shaping us in ways that even they might not have foreseen.”

He paused, choosing his next words with care. “I think we all carry our fathers’ legacies, whether we mean to or not. Their dreams, their ideas—even their mistakes—filter into who we are. My own father…” Aidan hesitated, his voice dropping as he searched for the right words. “King Cathal isn’t cruel, but he is… hardened. His sense of duty to Gaelica, to our people, is unwavering, and he raised me to share that same conviction. But sometimes I think he sacrificed too much of himself for it. There’s a part of him that feels absent, a part I fear he’s buried for the sake of his duty.”

A flicker of understanding passed between them, unspoken but present. He watched as Meya traced her thumb over her ring, clearly deep in thought, her fingers moving rhythmically as though lost in memory. Aidan couldn’t help but think of his own family—of his younger sister, Elara, and his mother, who had once softened his father’s edges in ways he had barely remembered until this conversation with Meya. He knew what it felt like to lose family, to lose parts of oneself along with them. And here she was, carrying her father’s ideals in a place where ideals seemed dangerous to have at all.

With a glance, he ventured further, curious but mindful of her boundaries. “It sounds like your father was one of the few people who might’ve tempered your uncle’s rule, who might’ve brought out a different side to him. It’s hard to imagine that kind of influence. Tyrell’s name is spoken in Gaelica as a force of nature, but in our lands, we sometimes forget he’s human.” He studied her, his voice warm. “Hearing you speak of him as a brother and a man… it brings a bit of clarity. And it makes me appreciate you, Meya. For keeping that part of your father alive.”

The words hung between them, weighted and sincere. He watched her face, reading the flickers of emotion that crossed her expression, feeling her guard waver as her eyes met his. As much as they were discussing their fathers, he knew this was as much about the future as it was about the past. His gaze softened, and he tried to ease the tension in her shoulders with a slight smile, one he hoped would give her room to breathe.

“I know this might be too forward,” he continued, “but it seems that in both our cases, the burdens of our families weigh heavily. You were right earlier—balance is hard-won, and peace harder still. But… maybe by sharing a bit of our worlds with each other, we can find a way to carry these weights together, even if only for a little while.”

The fire crackled in the silence, lending warmth to the space between them, and Aidan found himself leaning slightly closer, encouraged by the glimmer of trust in her gaze. He knew he could press her for more, that perhaps she was ready to share more than he expected, but he held back, letting her speak or remain silent as she wished. The choice, for once, was hers alone.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

“...we sometimes forget he’s human.”

“Yes, that is because people are more likely to bow to a seemingly otherworldly figure than someone who is, at the end of the day, just a man. It is strategic that he is seen as god-like.” Reaching up, Meya began to fidget with the bottom of her braid, the dampness still cool to her fingers.

“ For keeping that part of your father alive.”

“I think you give me too much credit, Your Highness.” Shaking her head, her face lost a bit of that softness. “I am just as guilty in my actions as the next person. My hands are not free from blood stains.” At that, Meya returned her hands to her lap, folding them together, as if mentioning them brought it to her attention that she was fidgeting. Though she still had yet to admit to him that she was a spy, Meya was certain he probably had some inclination. She'd portrayed herself as a scout because that seemed less harmful than the truth, and wasn't a complete lie. When she and Ronin traveled together, she did scout ahead. When they were within reach of their target, she blended in and watched, taking in every detail to then pass along to Ronin. Ronin was the assassin. The one who made quick work of dispatching somebody, unless he was under orders to gain information from them. That was an entirely different game altogether.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds from the popping fire and occasionally the rain and wind from outside cutting through.

“I always felt like my mother died because my father never returned.” Meya finally spoke, something tight in her voice. This was something she had never spoken aloud to even herself. “Like him not coming back broke something in her so irreconcilably that when she became ill, she had no fight in her. Marriages of love are rare, and theirs was full of it. I don’t think she knew how to be without him. I think she tried to hold out hope that because they never actually found him he might still be out there, but that hope deteriorated.” What Meya didn't vocalize was feeling that she hadn't been enough of a reason to fight harder. That her own daughter hadn’t mattered enough to keep pushing forward.

Inhaling deeply, she pushed those memories deep down, refocusing on him.

“What about you? You have spoken of your father and mother. Do you have any siblings? You speak as if this shared burden is only between you and your father.”

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan took in Meya’s question, and for a moment, he found himself staring past her, lost in memories of his family. He hadn’t thought of them all together in a long time—certainly not since he’d been old enough to see his father as more than just the man who ruled Gaelica. He realized, almost with a pang of surprise, that the familiarity of his siblings’ faces seemed faded in his mind, as though he’d buried those memories under the weight of his own duties.

“Two younger siblings, yes,” he answered, his voice softening. “There’s Elara, my sister. She’s… well, she’s pure light,” he said, a hint of a smile surfacing, as though her presence lingered somewhere near. “She’s always been the dreamer, the one who sees the world for its beauty and not its hardships. Elara has this way of softening our father, in ways I don’t think even he understands. If there’s kindness in him, it’s because she reminds him of it.”

The memories of Elara flickered in his mind—her laughter, her gentle but unyielding stubbornness. Aidan leaned back, resting his arms on the sides of the chair as his gaze remained fixed on the dancing firelight. “Elara often wrote me letters while I was at war. She would fill pages about the things she missed, what she hoped for Gaelica after the war… She once sent me a flower she’d pressed in one of her books, said it would remind me of home.” Aidan’s lips curled into a faint smile. “She’s braver than she realizes.”

He could feel Meya’s attention on him, her quiet presence drawing him into the depths of memory. “And then there’s my brother, Eamon. The youngest of us and… headstrong, in the best and worst of ways. For him, life is a challenge to be won, a fire to be fed.” He chuckled slightly. “Eamon wanted nothing more than to follow me to the front lines. He wanted to prove himself, to show he was just as capable of defending Gaelica. But… he’s more valuable at court, as much as he hates to hear it.”

A shadow crossed his face as he continued, his tone shifting. “Our family isn’t built on softness, and in many ways, I think we’re all taught to carry our burdens alone. Elara, perhaps, less so than Eamon and me. Father sees her as delicate, a part of Gaelica’s gentler side, which must be protected. But Eamon and I… he expects strength. Resolve.” Aidan’s jaw tightened, the weight of his words bearing down on him. “There was never a question of whether we would serve the kingdom. Our choices were made for us the moment we were born.”

His gaze met Meya’s once more, and he sensed her empathy, an understanding of a life in service to a cause larger than oneself. It was strange, the ease he felt in sharing this part of himself with her—a stranger and yet not one at all. Her own guardedness, the quiet sadness she carried, made him feel a kinship he hadn’t known he needed.

“Growing up, I envied my mother’s warmth,” he admitted, his tone lower. “She saw us, Elara, Eamon, and me, not as heirs or warriors, but as… as her children. She encouraged us to imagine, to dream beyond the bounds of the throne’s expectations. I think she tried to protect us from Father’s harshness. She taught me that there was more to ruling than power, more to leadership than strength.” He paused, the memory of her face softening his voice. “When she passed, something in our family changed. My father grew colder, driven, as though he was intent on filling every part of himself with duty. I think in some ways, he mourned her by becoming a part of her that he thought he’d neglected.”

He drew in a breath, taking his time with his next words, feeling their weight. “I was left to carry on as she might have wanted, a constant reminder of her softer approach. And yet, at times, I wonder if I’ve failed her. If, in trying to keep my father’s approval, I’ve lost something of her that she would have wanted to see in me.”

Aidan looked over at Meya, surprised at how much he’d confessed. He could see her watching him closely, her own thoughts hidden but perceptible in her expression. He wondered what her mother might have been like, if she’d been a source of gentleness in a world bound by loyalty and duty. He felt a strange compulsion to know more about Meya’s life, her family. Her guardedness intrigued him, and he realized that hearing her speak so openly earlier had been a rare gift.

“Do you ever feel as though you’re carrying on their dreams without knowing if you share them?” he asked, the question almost rhetorical, but the curiosity genuine. “I’ve spent so long trying to be what both my mother and father would have wanted that… sometimes, I’m not sure if I know what I want. But perhaps… perhaps there’s a way for us to hold on to our families and forge our own paths. Even if it means diverging from the legacies they left behind.”

He let the silence settle, the warmth of the fire casting shadows across the room. He hoped his openness might encourage her to share something more, to show him a part of herself that she might have hidden from others. For reasons he couldn’t yet explain, he wanted to know her more deeply—to understand the heart behind the enigmatic woman before him.

Aidan leaned forward, his gaze fixed on Meya with a calm intensity. Her words and silences had offered him insight into the woman she was beneath her guarded exterior. There was a storm in her, he could see, but also a willingness to engage with him, even if warily. He was beginning to feel that she was more than a simple guest from the South Seas—and not just because of her quiet admission of bloodstained hands.

"Meya," he began, carefully choosing his words. "Your knowledge of King Tyrell and his ways is... a unique asset." He paused, gauging her reaction, but her expression was unreadable, as though she’d expected this very conversation. "We both know that Gaelica’s relationship with Tyrell is precarious. And if I'm to make choices that steer my people toward a future free from constant threats, I need to understand my adversary."

Her posture stiffened slightly, a telltale sign that Aidan noted. It was clear she had more insight into Tyrell’s regime than she had willingly shared thus far. And it was equally clear to Aidan that Meya had a choice to make: to keep her knowledge guarded or to share it for a place within the walls of his castle—and, perhaps, his trust.

“You know Tyrell better than anyone here,” he continued. “How he operates, who he trusts, what drives him. You carry that knowledge as though it were a burden—and I would lighten it, if you’d allow. But to do that, I need you to be transparent with me.”

Aidan let his gaze settle on her face, noting the way her fingers had once again found her braid, twisting it with a restlessness that betrayed her. His tone softened, though his resolve remained unyielding. “Meya, I have two options: either you remain here, in my keep, in comfort, and help us understand Tyrell’s tactics… or, you’ll find yourself facing much sterner accommodations.”

The implication of the dungeon loomed unspoken but clear between them. He wasn’t proud of the ultimatum, nor was he inclined to carry it through lightly. But he could not ignore the growing tension Tyrell’s reach brought to Gaelica, nor the fact that Meya’s insight could be critical to navigating it.

He softened his tone, a note of sincerity threading through. “I don’t expect loyalty from you—only honesty. Tell me what you know about how he moves. How he commands his officers, what tactics he prefers, and who his true allies are. And you may stay here as an advisor, rather than a prisoner.”

Her expression remained guarded, but Aidan caught the barest flicker in her eyes, a reflection of the gravity of the choice he had placed before her. Perhaps it was something she hadn’t expected him to ask so plainly. He leaned forward, voice quiet but firm.

“Consider it, Meya. For your own sake, as much as mine.”

 

[QuirkyQuill]

“ If there’s kindness in him, it’s because she reminds him of it.”

“Sometimes I think fathers and daughters have a different type of relationship.” That had certainly been true for her. Even to some extent, she found that to be true of her uncle and her cousin, Cara. He would never allow her to be put in harm's way. While he was never warm towards her, and she was still expected to fulfill her duty as a child of the crown, he still took great pains to keep her protected.

Meya listened to him speak, her eyes not leaving his as he painted a picture of his brother and father in her mind. A family held together by responsibilities and expectations, but still a family that seemed like it had more understanding of one another than hers. She found herself feeling empathetic towards his place in his family, the lone boat rowing against the current in an attempt to forge a different path while grasping tightly to the rope of an anchor that had been lost.

“Do you ever feel as though you’re carrying on their dreams without knowing if you share them? Even if it means diverging from the legacies they left behind.”

Meya let his statement hover between them, her gaze appraising before speaking.

“Dreams are a luxury I am not entirely certain I have ever been given. Or perhaps they were, but under the understanding that whatever aspirations I might have they were in service to the king. In that, I have to admit that I am ill-qualified to answer. I did have a choice, though, in what type of duty I would fulfill. My uncle offered me a chance to walk the same path as my cousin. Smiling, waving, waiting for the moment when an advantageous marriage presented itself so he could further secure his hold on another nation. Or, I could serve the crown in a more active manner. Since the idea of spending my days in court while I waited to be traded like cattle was unappealing, I chose the latter. I think in that regard, I am more like my father. I prefer action to simpering.”

Meya paused for a moment, her face shifting from thoughtfulness to an expression that held more gentleness.

“I will say, however, that I believe strength comes in different forms. The way you speak of your father and your notion of strength feels as though you think you have to choose between that strength and something more giving. Sometimes strength comes in the form of grace. Sometimes it comes in the form of force. And sometimes it comes from daring to believe the impossible can happen. There can be a quiet sort of strength. Often I think those things that appear to many as weakness is in fact a type of strength that not everyone is capable of exuding.”

Something about the way he said her name and leaned towards her made her uneasy. Her spine straightened and her hands folded in her lap, her hand holding tightly to the other.

“...or, you’ll find yourself facing much sterner accommodations.”

At this, her eyes narrowed, the light blue of her her irises appearing to darken. She said nothing for a long while, but her jaw clenched as she stared at him. In an instant, the camaraderie that she had allowed herself to feel had been snapped shut, like closing a book that had a dissatisfying ending. Meya had reverted to the woman who had been dropped inside a room, hands chained together. At least then there had been no preconceived notions about her place. Ronin would have laughed at her and reminded her that she was too soft. That she had to do better at severing herself from her emotions.

Finally, she stood, every muscle in her body rigid.

“Believe me, Your Highness,” she said, her voice cold and level, “I do not need your reminder that I am nothing but a tool and I am here at your mercy. Something to be used.” Just like everybody else. “What is also unnecessary is you spending the time trying to manipulate me into thinking that you are trying to accomplish something with me, when you are really just working to lower my guard to get what you want. I agreed to help you. In the days since I have been here, you have not once actually tried to ask me for information, yet you have twice today felt the need to threaten me and remind me that I am a prisoner. A direct contradiction, might I add, to other times when you go out of your way to tell me I am not a prisoner.”

Her eyes remained steely on him as her arms rested by her sides, her fists balled up.

“You want honesty? If I had wanted to disappear today, I had every opportunity. One guard would not have been enough to stop me, and I don't know whether to laugh at the absurdity of it or feel offended that I have been so underestimated. I could have slipped away from him. I could have outrun him. I could have killed him. I could have been well outside of your grasp before you even knew I had broken my word. Instead, I chose, like the fool I clearly am, to trust that you believed what you were saying to me. For your sake and mine,” she said, sending his words back to him, “quit wasting your time trying to make me believe this is something other than what it actually is. Throwing me in a cell was unpleasant, but at least I wasn’t under any illusions. You want information from me, then ask without pretense of fellowship.”

With that, she turned from him and made an angry exit from the room. She was seething by the time she reached her door, so much so she failed to notice the malevolent guard was on duty. Practically slamming the door behind her like the elegant lady she was raised to be, Meya let out a huff of breath that she’d been clinging tightly to when she stood before Aidan. Or, she tried to, and was quickly reminded that Hildy had ensured that breathing was a luxury of which she was not currently afforded. Reaching behind her back, she grasped desperately for the lace, her fingers finally catching enough of it to pull the knot free. There was no way she could completely escape without Hildy's help, but she managed to loosen it enough so she could breathe.

It was as if that act alone caused part of her to break a little. She walked over to the chaise and placed her hands on the back of it, her fingers digging into the fabric.

Your emotions are your weakness, Meya. Ronin's voice was vivid in her memory as she stared into the fire.

You want to believe people are better than they are, and so you extend them trust. If they see that, they will use it. You make yourself vulnerable, and if you are vulnerable, you are detrimental to us all. You have to learn to sever your emotions. Meya could remember those words from him, his mouth next to her ear as he held her in place, both their eyes unmoving from the destruction he had caused. Shaking her head, she shoved the memory from her and closed her eyes in an effort to collect herself.

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan had spent much of the night awake, lost in thought as he contemplated Meya’s bitter response and the fierce edge she carried when she spoke of herself as a “tool.” Her words had cut deeper than he’d anticipated, making him wonder just how much she’d endured in a life that left her so distrustful. There was no doubt she was skilled, but he found himself questioning if that skill was all that defined her—if she’d ever truly had a choice of her own.

But dawn had broken with a decision, and he intended to carry it out, regardless of where it might lead. He approached the guard stationed by his door, his voice quiet but resolute. “Ready a horse for Lady Meya. Ensure it is sturdy and fit for a long journey.” Then, glancing toward the small stairway that led to the kitchens, he called out to Hildy, who was passing by with an armful of linens.

“Hildy, please, when Lady Meya is ready, help her into clothes suited for travel. Something comfortable.”

The woman gave a nod of understanding, catching the gravity in Aidan’s eyes.

Aidan nodded toward the second guard. “Bring her to the stables when she’s prepared. I’ll be waiting.”

As he stepped into the fresh morning air and made his way to the stables, Aidan could feel a weight settle over him. If Meya was to return to her homeland, he would let her go with no further demands; yet there was still a part of him that hoped she would choose to stay. The possibilities their alliance offered could be the turning point both their kingdoms needed. He had seen glimpses of her passion for peace and freedom from tyranny, a yearning he shared deeply, and he believed they might be standing on the precipice of something that could change both their worlds for the better.

By the time Meya arrived, led by the guard, Aidan stood waiting near the horse, its reins in hand. He greeted her with a quiet nod and offered her a calm, steady look, determined not to waver, despite the exhaustion that lingered in his gaze. He handed her the reins, but instead of stepping back, he held them loosely, as though the decision hadn’t yet been made.

“Meya,” he began, his voice low, softened with understanding. “You have two paths before you. Take this horse, and it will carry you wherever you wish to go. You’ll have my leave to return to the South Seas—or anywhere else your heart desires. If that is your choice, I will not stop you. You’ve made it clear that you are bound to no one, and if your journey takes you away from Gaelica, I’ll respect that.”

He knew his father would apoplectically angry, but he would deal with that. He took a step back, giving her space while his eyes held hers. “But if you choose to stay, it will not be as a prisoner, nor a pawn, nor even as a mere informant. It will be as a partner in working toward a truer peace between our lands.” Aidan’s tone grew firmer, his conviction settling into each word. “I am not asking you to abandon who you are or where you came from. I am only asking that you help me, that you work alongside me. Because we both want the same thing.”

The mist from the morning clung to the earth around them, softening the rugged outline of the stables and the surrounding trees. In that silence, Aidan felt an unspoken bond between them. He could sense her mistrust but also the desire buried beneath her defenses—a need for purpose, for something more than simply being a “tool” or a “weapon.”

“I believe, in your heart, you want peace as fiercely as I do. Not just for Gaelica but for your own people too. And I think that you know, as I do, that this is our chance to make it happen. But I won’t force you. The decision must be yours.”

He released the reins gently, allowing her full possession of the horse and what it represented. “This is a crossroads for both of us, Meya. We stand on the doorstep of something that could either lead to harmony or ruin, and it is entirely in our hands to choose.”

Aidan waited, his heart steady and open, hoping against the odds that she would see that he was offering her more than just the burden of duty—he was offering her freedom to shape her own destiny in this struggle, an opportunity to leave a legacy she could believe in.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Meya spent the night tossing and turning, barely sleeping. When sleep came, it was fitful and full of the same nightmare playing over and over, ensuring that the memory on which it was based was never forgotten. Eventually, long before the sun rose, Meya gave up and paced around her room. Part of her was angry that she had lost control of her words, but the stubborn part of her didn’t regret it for a minute.

Still, Meya prided herself on her ability to read people. After all, she had been trained in it, but even before that, she’d always picked up on people’s body language. The look in their eyes when they spoke. The way they fidgeted when they were nervous. The way their breathing changed. She hadn’t just been a good spy because these talents were simply learned, but because her natural inclinations made her more adept at it. While she still held firm to what she said to Aidan, she still struggled with the authenticity she had seen in his eyes. Meya did believe that he wanted what he said he wanted, but she was less certain of his handling of her.

By the time Hildy entered the room, Meya’s head was pounding and her eyes were tinged with sleeplessness. The older woman said nothing, but merely pursed her lips, and did as the prince had ordered. Meya remained stiff as she changed into the traveling clothes, grateful to find herself in the comfort of pants and a tunic rather than the inconvenience of a skirt. A knot had formed in the pit of her stomach, though, as the uncertainty of what was to come lay ahead of her. Her assumptions leaned to the worst, and Meya had resolved herself to the idea that she had pushed too hard last night. Speaking the way she did to a member of the royal family would certainly not go unpunished.

As she was led to the stables, the wet chill in the air felt as though it were wrapping around her throat, making it difficult to breathe. Her face gave nothing away, her eyes nearly lifeless. Whatever small spark had been lit by their nighttime talks had been unceremoniously doused, and when she stepped into the stables to see Aidan there, that other version of her that he’d seen was nowhere to be found. She was empty.

When the reigns were pushed in her direction, it took every ounce of willpower to keep her confusion to herself. She listened to his words, that gentle lilt that had lured her into a false sense of security having returned. He was offering her freedom. But was he really? Was he genuine in this offer, or would she ride out of here with a target on her back? Her fingers closed around the leather before he let go, but she remained still. Everything she saw in those green eyes spoke truth, and she realized in that moment that he meant to let her leave.

Meya turned to face the horse, stepping up beside his head. Reaching up, she rested her hand gently on the animal’s forehead, her hand slowly sliding down as she rested her head against his cheek and closed her eyes. She could leave. Return to the king, and continue on as she had. Ronin would be returned. Her life would be back in place. Was that what she wanted? Lifting her head, she looked up into the horse’s eyes, struck by the way they always seemed to stare into one’s soul. So penetrating, but so gentle. Swallowing, she turned and faced Aidan, her face still neutral, but something in her eyes shifting.

“Come with me.” Meya’s voice came out softly when she spoke, and she met his stare unblinking. He said he wanted to understand, and Meya could only make him understand by showing him. Not in the South Seas, but within the borders of his own land. She offered nothing else up because she didn’t trust the guards, but she hoped he would read something in her that pulled him in her direction. Meya was relying on what he had seen of her through those dinners to trust riding blindly with her for days outside of the safety and protection of the castle gates. “Only you and me.”

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan considered Meya’s unexpected invitation, her simple but resolute request hanging in the cool morning air. It felt as though she were offering him a thread, a thin line between two worlds—one he knew well, and another he had only glimpsed through her veiled words and guarded demeanor. If he truly wanted to understand the complexities she carried, he knew he couldn’t do so from the safety of his castle walls.

With a nod, Aidan turned to the nearest guard. “Ready a horse for me,” he said, his voice calm but unyielding. “Make sure he’s prepared for a journey.”

Then he glanced at another guard stationed by the stable door. “Bring a satchel with provisions for a few days—water, food, a change of clothing.”

The guards exchanged a quick look of surprise but nodded swiftly, disappearing into the bustle of morning preparations. Aidan took the moment of solitude to take in Meya’s expression. She was unreadable as she stood beside the horse, her face set in a mask that gave nothing away. But he saw the flicker of something in her eyes, a trace of conviction that ran deeper than he’d seen before. This journey was no simple task; it was her way of revealing something vital, something she couldn’t risk saying outright within castle walls.

Aidan understood the implications and the risk, but he was resolved. Meya’s homeland may have seen him as an enemy, and she herself still viewed him with distrust, but he had a sense that she wanted him to understand something essential about her world. Perhaps it was a warning, or maybe even an offering. Either way, he had come too far to turn back now.

When the guards returned, leading his horse and handing over a small pack of provisions, Aidan took a moment to secure everything, adjusting the satchel over his shoulder before turning back to Meya. He spoke quietly, his tone carrying no hint of command, only sincerity.

“All right,” he said, his voice steady. “Lead the way.”

The two of them mounted their horses, and as Meya began guiding her steed out of the stable yard, Aidan followed closely, feeling the distant gazes of the castle’s early risers upon them. The guards who had readied their departure watched in silence, a few curious looks exchanged among them, but Aidan kept his focus forward. As they left the castle gates, the familiar stone walls and sprawling gardens faded behind him, swallowed by the thickening fog of the early morning.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Her breath held tightly in her chest as he looked at her, and she knew he was reading her just as much as she was him. They had both placed a tentative foot on opposite sides of the bridge, and Meya knew she had quickly retreated last night. She also knew she was asking him to walk further onto that bridge while her feet stayed planted firmly on solid ground. Meya felt she had more to lose here. Something unfurled ever so slightly when he spoke, and she slowly let out the breath she held.

“And a map,” she said, her gaze shifting from Aidan to the guard that was sent for provisions. Meya knew her destination on a map, but did not know Gaelica’s land to make it from here by memory. When she received it, she studied it, careful not to draw attention to any one point on the map.

She said nothing else as they both mounted their horses, and Meya rode in silence. The place she was taking them was several days away. It was a long four days, likely made longer by her silence. She wasn't ready to pretend like their relationship had reverted back to whatever those nightly dinners had woven together. It still felt fractured to her, and she wasn't certain he even knew why she had responded the way she had. Likely not, and it was probably unfair of her to expect him to.

They stopped to allow the horses to rest, eating in silence. When they stopped for rest, Meya slept very little. Every little noise caused her to tense up, and she was acutely aware of everything around them. It was instinctive the way her senses quickly attuned themselves to the world around her, never letting herself completely relax. The nights had grown uncomfortably cold, and she found herself grateful for the hours in the sun during the day. Eventually they got close enough to where she was leading them that she no longer required the map, the hills familiar from the months she had scouted this area. It was midday on the fourth day when Meya drew her horse to a stop at the bottom of a hill. Dismounting, she ran her hand over the soft hair of his neck, more to calm the raw ache that had settled inside her than for the horse’s sake.

She looked at Aidan briefly, said nothing, but began to climb the hill, assuming he would follow. When she reached the top, her eyes spotted the worn, brown trail that wove its way down the hill. At the bottom, two houses and the remnants of one stood as a contrast to the openness of the land. The two remaining houses looked abandoned. The third had burned, with parts of the walls still standing in places. Even all these months later, the distant smell of smoke and fire lingered. Swallowing thickly, Meya began the trek down the path, her spine erect and everything about her tense.

When they reached the bottom, her steps slowed as she approached the burned house. On the ground lay a South Seas flag, ripped and dirt stained from months in the elements. What caught her attention, though, was the remnants of the front door on the ground in front of what used to be the entryway, a chain wrapped around the handle. She crouched down and reached out,her fingers tracing the cold metal as memories came flooding back to her.

“There was a family that lived here,” she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “Generations.” Standing up, Meya turned to face Aidan, her brows creased at the first sign of emotion she’d shown since that night in his quarters.

“The cottage there,” she pointed to the smaller of the two remaining, “was the older father and mother. They settled here when their two sons were nearly grown. The eldest son, his wife,and their two children lived there.” She pointed to the larger of the two cottages.

“This one,” she said, her voice tightening and her gaze darkened as she stared at the hollowed structure, “was the youngest son, his wife, and their new baby.”

Meya paused, her breathing caught in her chest as she tried to push out the images that were replaying in her head. Her eyes closed momentarily, and when she reopened them, she was ashamed to see her vision was blurred. Inhaling deeply, she tried to disconnect herself from her feelings.

“They were murdered. The three of them.” At this, Meya crossed her arms over her chest, an action done more to steady her body from shaking. She couldn't look at Aidan. She was too afraid of what she might actually see in his gaze if she did

“They were chained inside their homes. All of them. Only one was set on fire. Do you know what they did wrong, Your Highness? Do you know what crime this family committed to earn such swift judgment?” At this, Meya did look to him, her eyes carrying the burden of a months-long nightmare that constantly plagued her.

“They were kind to two passing strangers who needed rest. They shared their food, though they had no extra to spare. They refused to allow those two strangers to leave without refilling their supplies. They let those strangers warm up by their fire.” She shook her head bitterly, her eyes dropping to the ground.

“We were to leave, Ronin and I. He told me to scout ahead, so I did. It was nightfall by the time I came back and I immediately smelled the smoke. I could hear screaming. He was waiting for me on the hill. I thought at first that it was an accident. That they needed help, but when I tried to run back down the hill, he detained me. He made me watch this family burn to death. Made me listen to the screams of the other family members who couldn't get out to help them. The screams of the baby I had held earlier that day. Until finally it all stopped.” At some point tears had slipped down her face as she clung to herself, looking just as small as she had felt that day.

“Ronin said they needed to fear the crown. To maintain order, the people needed to be so fearful that they could be next so they obeyed every command. You asked me what the king’s tactics were. This is what they look like. Training his soldiers and officers to cause as much harm as they can. Finding ways to desensitize those under his command to human life. Exercise as much brutality as they can imagine. Untethered. Ronin could have killed them all. He intentionally did not. Because to kill everyone would have left nobody to tell the story of the atrocities committed under the name of the king. And if nobody knows what happened, then it doesn't instill fear. Without fear, there is no control.

That brutality is not saved just for those not in service to the crown. The training that we all go through… it is intended to ensure that we never meet anything in the field we have not already endured.”

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan felt the weight of Meya’s words crash over him like a wave, the horror of the scene around them embedding itself into his heart with every detail she relayed. Her voice, choked with emotion and yet steady, filled the empty landscape, turning the silence into something almost unbearable.

He wanted to look away from the wreckage, from the charred remains of the young family’s home, the collapsed walls still blackened by fire. But his gaze remained fixed, tracing each scar left upon the land, unwilling to deny the reality of what she had shown him. A family—no, an entire bloodline—had been gutted here, their only crime an act of kindness. They’d offered warmth and shelter, an ancient gesture of humanity, only to pay for it with their lives.

The weight of her story pressed down on his shoulders, heavier than any armor he had ever worn. For a long moment, Aidan’s mind whirled, grasping for understanding, for reason. But all he felt was anger, hot and smoldering beneath his skin. And beneath that anger was a churning sense of shame—shame for the world he belonged to, for the cruelty wielded in the name of order, and for the monstrous injustice these innocent people had suffered. If this was the kind of fear Ronin and Meya’s king sought to instill, then it was a fear that Aidan could never accept.

He took a shaky breath, trying to ground himself as he spoke, though his voice betrayed his unease. “I can’t… I can’t imagine the cruelty it took to do something like this.” He forced himself to meet her eyes, his own gaze fierce with conviction. “Meya, this is… barbaric. No people should live under such a rule, forced to kill and terrorize one another.”

Aidan clenched his jaw, the horror mingling with an almost overwhelming need to reject the inhumanity she had endured and witnessed. He thought of his father, King Cathal, and the ways Cathal ruled their kingdom. His father had his faults, perhaps more than Aidan wanted to admit, but even in his worst moments, Cathal’s rule had not been founded on pure, unbridled terror. There were cruelties, yes—alliances secured with iron resolve, rivalries snuffed out with the cold efficiency of a calculating ruler—but nothing so senseless, so depraved, as burning a family for a single act of kindness.

Aidan's eyes trailed back over the house, his voice low and full of the weight of what she had shared. “You’ve shown me something I cannot ignore, Meya.” He exhaled, his hand instinctively balling into a fist as he spoke, grounding himself against the rage he felt on behalf of these nameless people. “If there was any doubt that change is needed in our kingdoms… that doubt is gone.”

He shifted, turning to her fully now, and the determination in his voice was unmistakable. “This cruelty—these tactics—if they’re to stop, we have to do more than hold peace at the edge of a sword. We have to dismantle the very power that allows it to thrive.”

For a moment, he could see the pain etched into her features, the lines of grief and loss carved into her face like scars. And he understood, perhaps for the first time, why she was so deeply bound to this cause, why she harbored such mistrust toward him and his kingdom. This wasn’t just a political mission for her; it was personal, forged in blood and ash, in the destruction of innocent lives.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice carrying an edge of something that felt almost like reverence. “For showing me this… for trusting me enough to bring me here.”

Aidan looked down at his hands, and forced himself to speak words he hadn’t planned on, words that felt risky, vulnerable even. “You’re right to question me, you know. It’s easy to speak of justice and peace when it’s all theoretical, when the stakes are far removed from your own life. But this,” he gestured to the ruins around them, “this makes it real. You’ve risked so much to bring me here, and I won’t squander that trust. I won’t look away.”

He could feel the weight of her gaze on him, searching, perhaps wondering if his words were just as hollow as those spoken by the rulers she despised. He met her eyes, holding her stare with a conviction that had been galvanized by the truth she had shown him. “If I ever have a say in how our kingdom is governed, I’ll make sure it’s not one that depends on the suffering of innocents to enforce order.”

As the wind picked up, a chill swept through the valley, whispering around the abandoned cottages, carrying the faintest scent of charred wood and earth. Aidan watched the barren land stretch out before them, a quiet promise forming in his heart. There would come a day when he could stand up to his father, to challenge Cathal’s vision for the kingdom. And he would carry the memory of this place with him as a reminder of what was at stake.

The silence lingered between them, thick with the burden of shared pain. Aidan felt his mind race, searching for some way to ease the weight she bore alone. “What happened here… it’s a wound that can’t heal overnight. But if you’re willing, Meya, I want to find a way forward together. Not as prince and emissary, but as two people bound by what we’ve seen and what we want to change.”

He stepped forward, his gaze softened but resolute. “Whatever it takes, however long it takes… if there’s a way we can bring an end to this kind of suffering, then I’ll do it.” His voice dropped, and in that moment, his words held the weight of a promise. “This has gone on long enough.”

They stood there in silence, the ruins of the house bearing witness to their quiet pact. Aidan could feel the sting of bitter resolve in his heart, mingling with something he hadn’t felt in a long time—a sense of purpose that transcended duty or ambition. This was no longer just about a political alliance or securing Gaelica’s power. This was about protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves, about becoming a leader who would never force his people to live in fear.

As he looked once more over the village, the sun cast long shadows across the burned-out home, a stark reminder of all that had been lost. And he knew that if he ever became king, he would carry this place with him, a silent vow to fight for the kind of world where no one would ever have to live through such horrors again.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Meya realized in that moment that she was terrified that he would meet her words with disgust and hatred, and the idea of it made it difficult to breathe. As he spoke, she chewed on her bottom lip so hard she nearly drew blood. She felt sick anticipating the moment when his anger would turn on her, the blame would come on her. Because she was to blame. She held fault in this. When her eyes saw him ball up his fist, her body tensed, and she shifted her eyes from his hands back up to his face.

“We have to dismantle the very power that allows it to thrive.”

“Your father has managed to shift that tide more than anybody else ever has. I do not know how he has done it, but he has managed to anticipate the king’s large scale attacks. Enough to drive them out. It is the smaller attacks that are more difficult to root out.” Her voice felt raw, despite not having been used in several days. It took every part of her being to hold herself together. Meya still felt as though she were waiting for him to lay blame at her feet and hold her accountable for the crimes committed under her uncle’s flag. He didn’t, though, and it almost made it worse.

“You’re right to question me, you know.”

Swallowing, her brows furrowed as she looked down at the dirt.
“I-,” she started, stumbling slightly over her words before she’d gotten far, “I wasn’t angry the other night because you asked your questions. I was angry because you created that space and time to be something that had started to feel…safe? I don’t even know if I actually know what that feels like anymore. But it felt close. And then it felt like you violated that, using that time to interrogate and threaten me.” She still had not lifted her eyes from the dirt, and she watched as a tiny bug scampered its way across the uneven ground. Despite the sun high in the air, Meya felt cold all over, and she rubbed her arms with her hands.

“Ronin would do that to me. He knew where I was weak, and he would use it against me in an effort to break me of those weaknesses. He would get in my ear and talk to me like one would talk to a friend, but he would do it while these horrible things were happening around us. So, when you did something similar, it took away that thread of trust.” Reaching up with her left hand, she gently rubbed her left temple, suddenly feeling the exhaustion and weight of the last months pushing down on her shoulders. Dropping her arm, her eyes shifted back to the crumbling walls.

“This was my fault,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “I can’t repair this.”

“This has gone on long enough.”

When he stepped closer to her, she looked up at him, her eyes red rimmed. Her jaw clenched slightly as she felt her tension there, holding tight in a desperate attempt to not completely break apart. The silence lingered between them, the eeriness of the now abandoned homestead tightening itself around her.

“You asked for information on how he commands and his tactics. I will share with you what I know,” she paused, feeling as though this decision were about to turn her entire world upside down, “just not today, please.” That last word came out as a whispered plea.

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan’s gaze softened as he took in Meya’s posture, the vulnerability she was struggling to keep hidden behind her tense expression. For a moment, he let the silence linger, hoping it would allow her some small relief from the weight she carried. He could see her shoulders drawn tight, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion and something deeper, something that spoke of years spent wrestling alone with guilt and survival.

“Meya,” he said quietly, the firmness in his voice tempered with a gentleness he hadn’t often shown her. He wanted her to know that, at least here, in this isolated clearing where the last traces of her past still clung, she could let her guard down. “You are not responsible for what he did.”

She looked away, and Aidan could see the subtle clench of her jaw, the way her arms wrapped around herself as if bracing for another blow. But he continued, determined to press against the barrier she’d put between them. “What Ronin has done… it’s monstrous. But that doesn’t make you culpable.” His voice softened even further. “Don’t shoulder his darkness as if it’s yours to bear. It’s not.”

He saw her tense, as if his words had struck a nerve, and he felt an overwhelming urge to reassure her, to dismantle the twisted belief that she had to atone for someone else’s sins. Aidan knew too well what it was like to carry another’s burdens; his father had a way of passing down expectations and responsibilities that Aidan hadn’t asked for, either.

The wind shifted, carrying with it the faint scent of burned wood and earth, and Aidan felt the air grow colder. He drew in a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. This was not just an alliance or a military advantage anymore; it was a reckoning, a confrontation with the ghosts of their pasts. He sensed that the lives lost here, those who had died under Ronin’s twisted vision of control, had somehow bound him and Meya together in ways he hadn’t foreseen.

After a long silence, Aidan finally spoke again, his voice firmer now, carrying the weight of conviction. “You’re right—I was out of line the other night. I misused a moment of trust, and I’m sorry for that.” He paused, letting the words sink in, hoping she would hear the sincerity in them. “But whatever you felt then, I never intended to threaten or manipulate you. If anything, I wanted…” He faltered, uncertain if he should go on. But something in him urged him forward, pushing him to be honest, vulnerable, even if it meant revealing more than he was used to.

“I wanted to understand you,” he admitted, the confession raw and unguarded. “Not just as a soldier or as an emissary from the South Seas, but as you are. The person standing here, who has survived what many couldn’t.” He looked directly into her eyes, letting his own guard drop, allowing her to see the sincerity he knew words could only partially convey. “It may have seemed like an interrogation, and I can’t undo that. But I hope you’ll believe me when I say it was meant to be… a way to bridge the distance between us.”

He saw her watching him, her gaze searching his face as if she were weighing every word. Aidan held her stare, hoping she would see that he meant it, that he wanted to bridge the distance in a way that went beyond mere political necessity.

“You told me once that trust doesn’t come easily to you,” he went on. “And I know that I’ve only made it harder. But I’ll be patient. I don’t want to push you into a corner, not now, not ever. If you’re willing to work with me, Meya, then I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that I’m worth your trust.” He clenched his fist, then forced himself to relax, grounding himself in the moment. “And not because of some alliance or for my father’s sake. I’ll do it because I see who you are, and I respect you for it.”

Aidan felt the air grow still between them, thick with unspoken truths and shared pain. He waited, giving her the space she needed, hoping that in the silence, she might find some semblance of comfort. He couldn’t begin to understand all that she had endured, but he could be a steady presence, someone she didn’t have to fear.

“If today’s not the day,” he added, his voice barely above a whisper, “then tomorrow, or whenever you’re ready, we’ll talk about it. But when we do, it’ll be on your terms. You won’t be alone in it.” He wanted her to know that he wasn’t merely asking her to dredge up painful memories for his own gain. He was offering her a partnership—one that wouldn’t demand more from her than she was willing to give.

The silence settled between them once more, the landscape around them bearing witness to the tenuous connection they’d managed to forge in the midst of ruin. Aidan felt a flicker of hope, a fragile ember in the cold expanse of their shared journey. He couldn’t undo the past, couldn’t erase the scars Ronin had left on her heart and mind, but he could offer a different future, one where she might find peace and a renewed sense of belonging.

He turned his gaze back to the scorched earth around them, feeling a newfound determination well up within him. This alliance, this mission—it was no longer just about political leverage or securing his father’s approval. It was about carving out a path toward a future where justice meant something real, where people could live without fear of tyrants and brutality.

“This place,” he murmured, his voice low, as if speaking only to himself, “we’ll make sure their memory isn’t lost. That they didn’t die in vain.” He looked back at Meya, his eyes steady. “And when the time comes, we’ll bring an end to this. To him.”

The wind picked up again, tugging at his cloak, and he felt a strange sense of clarity. He’d spent so long under the weight of his father’s expectations, of Cathal’s vision for Gaelica, that he’d forgotten he could choose his own path, could forge his own alliances and loyalties. This was his path, and it was one he intended to walk with his own convictions, even if it meant challenging his father.

“Meya,” he said, his tone softening once more, “you have my word. I won’t turn my back on what you’ve shown me here. We’ll see this through. Together.”

As they stood amid the ashes of the past, Aidan felt the heavy shroud of duty and expectation shift, replaced by a purpose that was his own. He hoped Meya could feel it too, could sense that they were no longer two enemies forced into uneasy alliance but two souls bound by shared pain, shared goals, and perhaps, one day, shared trust.

For now, he would settle for the silence, for the quiet understanding that they could rebuild from here, one careful step at a time. And as they turned to leave the ruins behind, Aidan knew that the path ahead would be arduous, fraught with challenges he could scarcely imagine. But with each step, he felt the glimmer of something he hadn’t felt in years—hope.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

“You are not responsible for what he did.”

There was something about the way he said her name that made his voice curl around her, almost like an intangible blanket wrapping around her to drive out the coldness that had settled inside the pit of her stomach.

“I should have done things differently,” she said, her voice still quiet. “He wanted to ride in and just demand supplies, which at the time, he could have done under the law of the flag. I talked him into a different approach.” Her toe lightly dug into the dirt, shifting a small clod.

“He did it to teach me a lesson.” At this, she did lift her gaze to him, and was struck by the gentleness that looked back at her. “If he’d been able to ride in and assert himself to get what he wanted, he would have left without further incident.”

“Don’t shoulder his darkness as if it’s yours to bear. It’s not.”

His darkness had been Meya’s to manage for so long that it felt as much a part of her as her own sense of self. The idea of separating herself from it wasn't something she could even begin to fathom how to accomplish. She visibly shivered as the wind picked up, the homestead a tunnel between the hills that filtered the cold chill.

“But I hope you’ll believe me when I say it was meant to be… a way to bridge the distance between us.”

Meya studied him as he spoke, again looking for the slightest shift in eyes or a twitch that spoke of insincerity, but she saw nothing but openness and contrition.

“You were rather ineffective, Your Highness,” she said, her tone lighter than it had been. She was not seriously chastising him, but it was almost her way of acknowledging his apology.

Her throat seemed to tighten as she grappled with the words he spoke. This call to action felt different than before. He had given her a choice to leave. A choice to return to her place in the order of things. She hadn't taken it. Had she just become a traitor to her lands?

“We’ll see this through. Together.”

The road lay ahead of her, diverging into two very clear and different paths. They were both difficult, but for very different reasons. If she chose to help Gaelica, Meya knew she would have a target on her back. One that might be inescapable. But was it better to die trying to bring something better to this world than to live wielding a sword she didn't actually want to wield? Her eyes grazed the darkened wood, sifting through the remnants of a home that had been filled with love. When she met his eyes, there was resolve in them, the rest of her face softening with a mixture of weariness and something else that hinted at trust.

“I'm with you.” Despite the inner turmoil that was still roiling around inside of her, the words slid surprisingly easily from her lips.

The walk back up the hill held a different type of silence than the initial trek down. While it wasn't lighter, it felt like there was more understanding between them. Meya was grateful to leave the place behind, and when she mounted her horse, she couldn't bring herself to look behind. This place had haunted her nightmares for months, and she knew it would continue to do so.

The two rode in silence, but this one with less tension than before. When they stopped for nightfall, the setup for a quick camp felt more companionable than it had in the previous days. After they ate, Meya was leaning against a tree, hugging her legs close to her body, the thin blanket hardly doing much to keep out the
cold.

“Your cold feels much worse than ours.”

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan glanced over at Meya, her figure curled tightly beneath the thin blanket, her shoulders hunched in a futile attempt to stave off the chill. The meager fire cast flickering shadows across her face, highlighting the exhaustion etched into her expression. He watched her silently for a moment, his gaze steady and thoughtful. He could sense a certain fragility in her, not in her strength—he’d seen more than enough to know she possessed that—but in the way she fought to keep herself together, as if she were used to weathering storms on her own.


The night had settled in thick and cold around them, sharper than usual in this region, and Aidan pulled his cloak tighter around himself, feeling the bite of the wind through his own layers. Even in this fleeting silence, he sensed something new between them. A tentative, unspoken understanding that had crept into their shared moments, slowly chipping away at the barriers they’d kept so firmly in place.


He moved closer, settling beside her with a faint crunch of dry leaves under his boots, his own heavier blanket folded over one arm. His gaze flickered to her face, studying the lines of her expression, and he noticed the slight shiver that ran through her despite her best efforts to conceal it.


“Here,” he said, holding out the thicker blanket. “This should keep you warmer than that threadbare thing.”


Meya lifted her gaze, surprise evident in her eyes as she looked from the blanket to him. Aidan felt a flicker of uncertainty—she might refuse, might insist she didn’t need his help, that she could handle the cold on her own. But he had no intention of letting her freeze through the night. They had a long road ahead, one that demanded both of their strengths, and she didn’t need to bear discomfort if he could do something about it.


She didn’t immediately reach for the blanket, her hesitation making him wonder what other burdens she carried with her—the kind that had nothing to do with the cold. Aidan met her gaze, his expression steady, offering her a quiet reassurance that seemed to have become second nature between them, something unspoken yet somehow understood.


“If you’d like,” he added, his voice softer now, almost a murmur in the quiet night, “you’re welcome to huddle under this with me.” He gestured to the space beside him, his tone casual, though he felt the weight of the offer in a way he hadn’t expected. They were allies, yes, but this gesture spoke to something beyond alliance. It was a promise of companionship, of shared strength and understanding.


The words hung between them, mingling with the smoky air, and he could sense her inner struggle as she considered it. Aidan waited patiently, keeping his gaze steady, feeling that this moment mattered more than any battlefield alliance or shared plan. This was about trust, a fragile seed that had begun to take root amid the ashes of shared pain.


He looked away, his gaze shifting to the firelight dancing against the trees, giving her the space to make her choice without the weight of his stare pressing on her. “I know we come from different worlds, and I know I’ve given you reason to keep me at arm’s length,” he continued quietly, his voice more of a murmur in the cold air. “But tonight, there’s no need for either of us to pretend we’re made of iron. Sometimes we all need a little warmth.”


He heard the faint rustle of her blanket, a sign she was adjusting herself, considering his words. Aidan let his mind wander to the darkened sky above, stars scattered like dust across the night, a silent reminder of how vast the world was beyond their struggles. This conflict with Ronin, the losses they’d both endured—it was one small chapter in the boundless history of their lands. Yet here, in this small circle of firelight and cold, it felt as if the world had narrowed down to just them.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Meya watched him curiously as he moved closer, once again aware of how he managed to take up space. Even without the blanket, she could feel heat radiating from him. His presence had taken on a different feeling ever since they’d left the cluster of houses, despite Meya’s quietness. If she was truthful with herself, at some point between getting dropped in front of him looking like death worn over and today, she had started to care what he thought about her. She hadn't realized just how much it had mattered until he'd been confronted with a small glimpse into what she came from. Meya had expected to be met with disgust, but instead, he’d shown empathy and kindness. This whole situation still confused her.

“This should keep you warmer than that threadbare thing.”

A small, tired half smile appeared on her face at his words. “Your people gave me this threadbare thing,” she said, her tone light and not at all accusatory despite her word choice. Meya had a feeling some of them probably hoped the cold would take care of her, and they had every right to wish it. She recognized that she represented everything his people had fought to break free from. Having her in the palace as a guest, even a reluctant one, likely felt like an insult to everything they had fought for. Though she could feel the damp chill rather acutely, Meya could not bring herself to relieve him of his only source of warmth.

“You’re welcome to huddle under this with me.”

His voice dropped lightly, taking on that tone of voice that had a way of catching her attention. Her eyes lifted to his, the surprise evident, but tinged with wariness. Life traveling under the banner of the South Seas came with many expectations, and one of them was that everyone was responsible for their own welfare. You suffered if you were unprepared, or you found a way to solve the problem on your own. When his offer came, not only did it take her by surprise, but she regarded it with mistrust.

“There’s no need for either of us to pretend we’re made of iron.”

Is that what she was doing? Was she trying to keep up the appearance of an unbreakable woman in the hopes of…what, exactly? Keep herself from looking vulnerable so he couldn’t use it against her? Aidan had already seen her more raw than anybody had since she was a child, and had accepted it without any showing of malicious intent. If he’d wanted to hurt her, he had already had opportunities to do so.

“Thank you,” her response was quiet, if a little bashful. Meya shifted over, helping adjust the blanket so it fell over both of them. It was significantly warmer than hers, but she had a feeling it was also his body heat contributing to the shift. The side of her body was pressed against the side of his, and she realized that this was the closest to him she’d been. Resting her head against the tree, she looked up at the sky. It was strange how, logically, she knew it to be the same sky as home, but it looked so different here. Somehow bigger.

“Do you want me to take first watch while you get some sleep?” Turning her head, she looked up at him, realizing just how close they were to one another.

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan looked down at her, seeing the lingering exhaustion shadowed beneath her eyes, and shook his head with a quiet, steady resolve.
“I’ll take the first watch,” he said softly, his voice gentle but firm. “You’ve carried enough today, and besides, I’ve trained myself to sleep lightly. It won’t be any trouble.”

Her gaze held his for a moment, perhaps questioning his choice, but he saw her shoulders ease just a little as she nodded in quiet acceptance. The tension of the day had etched itself deeply into her expression, the weight of shared history pressing upon her, and Aidan wanted to grant her a moment of relief from it. This offer was more than practicality; it was a way to show her that he, too, could shoulder some of the burden.

He let the silence settle between them as he settled himself beside her, adjusting the blanket to cover them both more fully. It was warmer this way, their shoulders lightly brushing beneath the thick fabric, and Aidan was reminded, unexpectedly, of simpler nights—nights before the wars, before Ronin's tyranny, when he’d camped with friends from the castle, laughing around a fire and sharing stories in the woods of Gaelica. Those nights seemed like a distant memory now, something out of reach, but here, with Meya’s quiet breathing beside him and the fire crackling steadily, he felt a glimmer of that old peace.

As the night wore on, Aidan kept a careful watch, his gaze shifting between the dark forest surrounding them and the faint rise and fall of Meya’s breathing. The moon cast a cold light over the trees, dappling the ground with pale shadows. His thoughts wandered, threading between the shadows, dipping into memories he usually kept hidden. His father’s voice echoed in his mind—Cathal’s steadfast words of wisdom, imparted during their rare quiet moments together. His father had always spoken of the weight of leadership, the necessity of making choices that would haunt him, that would wear at his heart but strengthen his resolve.

This moment felt like one of those choices. It would have been easier to keep his guard up, to hold Meya at arm’s length, to see her as nothing more than a tactical ally in their shared mission. But he couldn’t do that now. Not after witnessing the courage in her eyes as she spoke of her past, not after the way her voice had faltered as she confessed her role in the suffering wrought by her uncle’s hand. She had borne so much alone; he could at least offer her a moment’s reprieve.

The hours passed quietly, with only the occasional rustle of leaves or crack of a distant branch to break the silence. The fire dimmed as the night grew deeper, and Aidan found himself glancing at Meya more often than he’d intended, checking that she was warm, that her sleep remained undisturbed. Her face, in the soft light, held a different kind of expression—one free from the guarded tension he’d come to know. It was vulnerable, yet peaceful, and he realized, with a faint pang of sympathy, how seldom she must have allowed herself to feel that way.
As dawn began to brush the sky with the barest hint of light, Aidan finally felt the weight of his own exhaustion settle over him, though he pushed it aside. He didn’t regret staying up; in fact, he was grateful for the quiet hours to himself, the chance to let his mind work through the strange new bond that had formed between them.

The fire had burned low, its embers glowing softly against the morning chill. Aidan stoked it briefly, coaxing a few flames back to life, then cast a glance over his shoulder, ensuring that Meya was still asleep. She’d huddled more deeply beneath the blanket, a faint crease of worry gone from her brow, and he felt an unexpected satisfaction at having granted her a night’s rest, however small a gift it might be.

As the first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon, he turned to her, placing a careful hand on her shoulder, giving her a gentle shake. “Meya,” he murmured softly, keeping his voice low so as not to startle her. “It’s morning. We should get ready to move on soon.”

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, her gaze still clouded with sleep as she looked up at him, a trace of confusion crossing her features. Aidan offered a reassuring smile, keeping his tone light. “I hope you slept well. I didn’t want to wake you sooner—you needed the rest.”

She blinked, clearly taken aback, and he shrugged, a faint smile touching his lips. “Don’t worry, I kept watch. Nothing slipped past me.”
He rose to his feet, stretching to shake off the stiffness from the night, then held out a hand to help her up. As she accepted, he felt the warmth of her fingers briefly against his own, a simple touch that carried more significance than he’d expected.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

“I’ve trained myself to sleep lightly.”

“I’m not entirely certain there’s any other way to sleep, is there?” Closing one eye, she looked at him and squinted slightly. The question was meant to be rhetorical, but there was a hint of authenticity to the question. Meya had not slept much at all on the ride down at all, and while she felt the exhaustion becoming more difficult to ignore, it still felt impossible to set aside duty. She watched his face against the flickering of the fire for a while before she nodded.

Closing her eyes, she turned her head in the opposite direction, the roughness of the bark taking a moment to get used to before she was able to ignore it all together. Those in war often learned to find sleep in the most unexpected, and uncomfortable, of places, and this was no different. Aidan’s presence next to her kept the coldness at bay, and she slipped into sleep fairly easily. At some point, she shifted and her head found its way to his shoulder, her body seeking out his warmth even in sleep. It had been a long time since she had slept without dreams causing fitfulness throughout the night.

When Aidan moved from where they’d been all night, Meya roused just enough to pull the blanket back around her, trying to trap the heat inside before dozing back off. The sound of her name woke her immediately, though it took her eyes a moment longer to respond. When she did open them, it took her a second to remember where they were, and then she processed the fact that it was daylight. He’d let her sleep the entire night through.

Reaching up to take his hand, her body shivered lightly as she stood, and she wasn’t sure if it was the damp cold of the morning, or the way his calloused fingers felt against her skin.

“You were supposed to wake me,” she chided him quietly. “The whole point was for both of us to get some rest.”

Stretching her arms out in front of her, she stifled a yawn. Reaching up, she brushed a loose tendril of hair that had fallen from her braid behind her ear as she started to clean up camp. They ate quickly, and were soon back on the road. It wasn’t until later in the afternoon that they stopped to rest the horses and eat.

“You asked how we are trained in the South Seas,” she spoke after finishing her meal. Blue eyes met his, the color almost darkening as she broached the subject. Swallowing, she looked away briefly as though debating with herself, but quickly resolved whatever the debate was and met his eyes. “Soldiers are trained very similarly to any other nation. They learn to wield a sword, fire an arrow, and defend themselves in hand-to-hand combat. The real difference comes with those who hold high enough rank or have specific duties that require them to have confidential information. Because he learned early how to effectively break prisoners from opposing kingdoms, he has very strong convictions in what we should be able to withstand should we ever be taken captive.” She paused, searching for her words as she tried to explain, but also taking that moment to try to disconnect her own feelings and vivid memory from what she was discussing. When she did resume, something in her eyes had shifted, and the softness she’d held the night before was gone. In its place was someone who looked disconnected from herself.

“We have to endure anything in training that we might encounter in the field,” she said, speaking a little slower than she had before. “For instance, he used starvation to break the will of an Aelerian spy, so he ordered us to experience that feeling, so that we would not do the same. Officers endure a fortnight where they are given just enough food and drink to keep them alive during that time, but they are still expected to physically train while being targeted with violence. They are given a false piece of information, and if they reach a point where they can longer withstand it, they give the information as a way of admitting defeat. If they fail, they are demoted. It’s like that for other types of torture. Any way my uncle has managed to gain access to valuable information from others, he puts everybody through. Physical pain. Isolation to a level that will drive a man to insanity. Drowning. That one is temperamental and has a high mortality rate.” Meya spoke, her pace still slow. “Although, I think the king still considers death in a fabricated scenario just as honorable as death at the hands of a foe. Our spies and officers are unbreakable because they have often already experienced any type of torture an enemy could devise. Where other kingdoms typically have a line they will not cross, my uncle has no such restrictions. Except for isolation, anyone who is trained together watches. It’s intended to desensitize us.”

“For women, there are additional… challenges in which they have to succeed. Since women have an additional vulnerability in war that our male counterparts do not typically have to concern themselves with, the king is staunch on ensuring that we can handle anything that might be given to us. While women are respected in battle, we are still seen as weaker, and have to prove ourselves even more.” Her eyes shifted to the piece of bread she still held in her hands, rubbing her fingertip over the crust. “Are you certain you want to know this?”

She looked back up at him, her expression unreadable.